Kill Oliver
by catsvrsdogscatswin
Summary: When The Bride and her entire wedding group, including her fiancé, is slaughtered by her ex-boss, the former assassin sets out on a quest of bloody vengeance for her unborn child, her husband, and most importantly, herself. The mission? To kill "Bill" and the five enforcers who helped him crash her wedding reception. No mercy, no regrets, but many 2ps. Based on the movie Kill Bill.
1. Chapter 1: 2

_**Because I want to do a Kill Bill crossover with my Trekker story. Why? I don't know, and Kill Bill is my main theme to be listening to when I'm writing my Trekker fic. Some (not many) of the Kill Bill cast will be genderbent as need requires, and some of the Hetalia cast will serve in roles that their ethnicity would usually disqualify them from. I only have so many Asian characters, you know? Also, some character's characteristics from both sides have been changed around as well. I'm going to post chapters at a rate of one chapter per day, purely because I'm bored and don't want to just post the whole thing in one go. I have to build up suspension, you know.**_

 _ **Also, I apologize in advance for what you're about to read. *sweatdrop***_

* * *

 _Arya's POV:_

I could barely breathe. I tasted copper in my mouth. _Blood._ There was so much blood. I could barely _see_ ; my right eye had been swollen shut by a particularly well-placed punch or kick –at that point, I could hardly tell up from down, never mind from who and what the blows were. I felt cold air whistling past what I presumed was a missing tooth, or the ruins of one, and I could feel their cold, emotionless gazes on me, every one.

Footsteps.

 _Oh no. Oh God no. Please. No._ I thought raggedly, whimpering now on every exhale as I tried to breathe through a broken nose and bubbles of blood. The footsteps creaked a little on the quaint wooden floorboards of the church –I could hear spent shell casings rolling away from the no-doubt picture-perfect patent-leather shoes that the approaching man wore. They stopped right above me, and I squinted against the pain and the light, looking up at the silhouette of the man who had ordered this done to me. "Do you find me sadistic?" he asked calmly, and knelt, extending a hand with a handkerchief. A fucking handkerchief. As if that could do _anything_ at this point? And it was his favorite one too, as if that made a difference, the one monogrammed with his first name in dark blue letters.

He began cleaning the blood off my face, softly. "You know…I'll bet I could fry an egg on your head right now, if I wanted to." he murmured. I would have chuckled if I had the will or the breath. _Nonsensical as always_ , I thought deliriously as his hand moved down my throat and chest. "You know, poppet…I'd like to believe you're aware enough, even now, to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions." He smiled at me brightly, his eyes gleaming with false love. "Well, maybe towards those other people." My eyes started watering at the thought of how he had ruthlessly murdered all the people here, my _husband_ , the reverend, the musician, even. "But not you." he added softly, stroking my cheek with one finger. "No, poppet. At this moment…" He sighed in satisfaction, rising to his feet. "This is me…" I heard bullets rattling, and I used every ounce of remaining strength and willpower to turn my head, staring up at him in betrayal. He couldn't. He _wouldn't_.

"….at my most masochistic."

I looked up into baby blue eyes as a gun was pointed at my head. "Oliver…" I choked out. "It's your baby-"

 _ **BLAM!**_

 _***Time Skip***_

The sound of an ice cream truck tinkled through the streets as I parked the obnoxiously bright truck I had… _liberated_ , on the curb of the street. I gazed through slitted eyes at the picture-perfect fucking house I had come to destroy, and my grip tightened on the wheel. I opened the door with a grunt, closing it with a slam. It took every ounce of willpower I had to remain casual, walking calmly across the verge of grass as I observed the many plastic toys scattered about. That raised a mental eyebrow, but right now, I was afire with purpose, and there could have been _unicorns_ strewn about the grass for all they would've slowed me down. I sucked in a deep breath and rang the doorbell, waiting on the balls of my feet.

" _Coming!_ "

I glanced over my shoulder at the sound of a barking dog, then quickly looked back at the door.

"Flavio, I cannot-a believe you are early-" my target was saying as he opened the door, but once he got a good look at me, he froze. My eyes narrowed slightly, remembering every last blow and punch that had taken me out a good four years ago, and remembering looking up at this fucker's face as I lay immobile on the floor. Same tan clothes, same dumbass hat, same freaky hair curl. His magenta eyes widened just barely, and then I punched him in the nose, knocking him back into the house. I went to hit him again, but he kicked my fist away and caught my right hook, tossing me into a mirror on the wall, smashing it. Its shards rained down on me as I fell to the ground, crushing a shelf full of DVD cases and books, and I crossed my arms over my chest just in time to block a kick to my sternum. I shoved his foot upwards and kicked him in the crotch, then the face as he bent over with a howl of pain, sending him flying into a glass coffee table, shattering _that_ as well.

He rose with a groan, his hands covered in tiny cuts, and I launched myself over the edge of the couch as he grabbed one of the legs and slammed it into my foot, sending me down on my knees with a shriek. I ducked under another wild swing and he pounced on top of me, swinging the leg down for my face as I grabbed him by the collar and flipped him over my body. He landed with a thud, and I rolled to my feet and grabbed him in a chokehold as he clawed at my hands, choking desperately. We both fell to the ground, me on top of him, as I felt his trachea bending under the force of my arm. His arm suddenly flashed out and he grabbed a poker from the fireplace, slamming it down on my back as I let go with a shriek of pain. He lunged to his feet and whirled, stabbing the length of metal at my face, but I grabbed it and twisted it off course, kicking him in the sternum and sending him into a bookshelf full of breakable objects.

My eyes widened just barely. _Shit fuck._

I had barely enough time to curl into a protective ball as he grabbed the case and slammed it down on top of me, making me hiss in pain as glass sliced into my skin. I heard his footsteps running off into the kitchen and swore, staggering to my feet and blindly running after him. I was rewarded for my impatience by a knife, dodging backward as he sliced at my face. "Whatcha gonna do now, _cagna_?! Whatcha gonna do!?" he snarled as he rapidly backed me into a corner, and I fumbled behind me, grabbing a frying pan to deflect his blows as I quickly stumbled backwards. Just before I entered the doorway, he feinted with his knife and slashed the back of my hand, making me cry out in pain as I dropped the frying pan. He leveled a solid kick at my abdomen, sending me on top of a table with a yelp of pain. Before I could get up, he was on me again, and I rolled to the side as he buried the knife hilt-deep where my heart had been. I landed under the table and unsheathed my own knife, stabbing it up to where I guessed his own heart was. I missed, but didn't let that deter me as I kicked the table upwards, sending him crashing into the wall and sliding down it with a snarl.

I quickly jumped over the table, flicking my blade out as I advanced upon him. He smirked mirthlessly, beckoning me with his free hand. "Okay, c'mon _cagna_ , c'mon..." he purred as I flipped my knife around, coming to rest in almost the exact same place we had started, framed perfectly by the buolic window to his living room. "C'mon. Bring it on." he hissed, darting forward in another feint as I dodged and struck at him. We baited at each other, swaying slightly as his eyes burned into mine, magenta coals in that pale face of his. _At least I managed to knock his damn hat off._

I glanced slightly to the right as I heard the sound of an engine, noticing a school bus stopping at this house. Luciano's eyes followed, then widened, moving back to mine. I could see the weakness flooding them, the pleading I had never seen before in the ruthless assassin's eyes, as a young boy hopped down the steps and began to trudle up the driveway. He shook his head slightly at me, begging, transforming in an instant from the viscious, bloodthirsty knife fighter that I knew and hated to a suffering man who dared not make a move for fear of angering the woman before him. I glared at him, gritting my teeth, and whipped the knife behind my back as the door opened, seeing him do the same out of the corner of my eye.

"Daddy, I'm-a home~!" the small boy –Italian as well, it sounded like– called out as he entered the house, and Luciano advanced several steps, putting himself between me and the child. "Hey Flavi. How-a was school?" he asked calmly, as suave as ever. The small blonde stared at us, both bloodied, covered in small cuts, and breathing hard. "Daddy, what-a happened to you and-a the TV room?" he asked hesitantly, and Luciano darted a quick glance at me. "Oh...that-a dog of yours got into the living-a room and acted like a fool. That's what-a happened, Flavi." he said quickly, as smooth as he was at his most deadly. "Flavi" stepped forward, his blue eyes wide. "Marco-a did this?" he asked in surprise, and Luciano quickly held out his hand. "Flavi...now, you can't-a come in here. There's-a broken glass everywhere, and you could-a cut yourself."

Flavi's eyes moved to me, staring silently. I became immediately conscious of all the blood on my neck and right hand, luckily held behind my back, from the broken glass. Luciano, sharp as he was, caught the look and nodded to me. "This-a is an old friend of daddy's I haven't seen in a long time." he said cordially, and I nodded slightly. "Hi kid. I'm Aryana Thompson. What's your name?" Flavi, perhaps wisely, did not speak, and it was Luciano who told me, still eyeing me suspisciously. "His name-a is Flavio." I nodded, sucking in another breath as anger threatened to overwhelm me, keeping a brittle smile on my face. "Flavio. Such a nice name for such a nice boy. How old are you, Flavio?" I asked politely, trying to be as friendly as possible and not act like I was violently wishing to cut his father into itty-bitty pieces. Flavio remained silent, still watching me quietly.

Luciano frowned in a parental manner. "Flavi, Arya asked-a you a question." he chided, and Flavio blinked at me sullenly. "I'm four." he said pointedly, and my fingers twitched. "Four years old, eh? You know, I had a little girl once. She'd be about four now." I said as pleasantly as I could manage, sensing more than seeing Luciano flinch beside me. I looked at him, fighting to keep a neutral expression, and he looked away, deciding instead to confront his son. "Now Flavi, me and daddy's friend-a have some grown-up talk to-a talk about. So you-a go in your room now, and I want you to-a leave us alone untill I tell-a you to come out. Okay?" he asked softly. Flavio glanced at me again, and Luciano snapped his fingers in front of the boy's nose sharply. "Flavio! In your-a room, _now_."

The boy glanced at us one more time and did as he was told, and I flicked my knife out from behind my back as Luciano slowly lowered his own and looked at me blankly. "...you want some-a coffee?" he asked wearily after a moment, and I shrugged winsomely. "Yeah. Sure." I murmured, and he turned and shoved the front door nearly to as he meandered back to the kitchen. I sheathed my knife at my hip and pushed the door all the way closed as I followed. I watched his back as he moved, clad in a tan shirt and slacks that just _barely_ managed to suggest the military outfit I knew he loved to wear, and the stray auburn curl bouncing above his head as he walked.

My eyes narrowed.

 _This Pasadena homemaker's name is Enrico Abelli. His wife is Lovina Abelli. But back when we were aquainted, four years ago, his name was Luciano Vargas. His code name was Copperhead. Mine, Black Mamba._

I rubbed at my wrist as we entered the kitchen, feeling blood trickle down from where he had cut me. "Do you have a towel?" I asked as he rustled about, and he muttered "yeah" after a moment of hesitation, tossing it to me from the "safe" distance of about five feet away. "Thanks." I muttered, using it to mop up the blood on my neck and chest. "You-a still take cream and-a sugar, right?" he asked as he turned back to the kitchen, and I nodded. "Mm-hmm." He did not look in my direction, perhaps a mistake, as he poured the coffee. "So I suppose-a its a little late for an apology, huh?" he asked bluntly as he stirred the sugar into my mug. "You suppose correctly." I said flatly as I tucked the towel into my sleeve, and he slammed the spoon down on the table, advancing upon me threateningly. "Look _cagna_ , I need to know if you're-a going to start any more shit around my child." he snarled, pointing at me warningly, and I smiled icily at him. "You can relax for now. I'm not gonna murder you in front of your child. Okay?" I said menacingly as I finished wrapping the towel around my wrist.

He nodded slowly, dabbing at the bloody nose left over from my headbutt with a towel of his own. "That's being-a more rational than Oliver led me to believe-a you were capable of." he said slowly, obviously nonplussed, as he turned back to the coffee. I smirked ruthlessly, wandering over to the counter. "Its mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack, not rationality." I said sweetly as he set the coffee down in front of me, and his magenta eyes narrowed. He turned back and walked to the opposite side of the kitchen, putting the towel he had been dabbing his face with down as he did. "Look. I know-a I fucked you over." he began, turning to face me with one hand on his hip and the other on the counter, where he held a mug of his own. "I fucked you-a over bad. I wish-a to god I hadn't, but I did. You have every-a right to want to get even." he said levelly, but I interrupted him with a tiny smirk.

"No, no, no, no, no. No. To get even –even Steven– I would have to kill you…go up to Flavio's room, kill him…then wait for your wife, the good Lovina Abelli, to come home, and kill her." I said with a little chuckle, staring him dead in the eye as he swallowed slightly. "That would be even, Luciano. That'd be about square." I mimed a little square with my index finger as his fist tightened, his eyes firing with a familiar rage. "Look, if I could-a go back in a machine, I would. But I can't. All I can tell you-a is that I'm a different person now." he growled, advancing upon me. "Oh, _great_." I purred, leaning over the counter. "I don't care." His eyes narrowed. "Be-a that as it may, I know I don't deserve your-a mercy or your-a forgiveness." He walked around me and grabbed a picture from the wall, shoving it in my face. "However, I beseech-a you for both on behalf of my son-"

"Bastard," I sneered. "You can stop right there." He lowered the picture, watching at me angrily. "Just because I have no wish to murder you before the eyes of your offspring does not mean that parading him around in front of me is gonna inspire sympathy." I whispered slowly, deliberately, as he shifted slightly, transforming from a worried parent to the fighter I knew he was. "You and I have unfinished business. And not a goddamn fucking thing you've done in the subsequent four years, including knocking someone up, is gonna change that." I hissed out. He mimicked my position, placing his hands on either side of himself on the counter. "So when do-a we do this?" he asked furiously, his eyes burning with rage. I smiled slightly. "It all depends. When do you wanna die? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow?"

He smirked ruthlessly. "How about tonight, _cagna_?" he interrupted me, and I grinned. "Splendid. Where?" I cooed, feeling my nerves tingle with anticipation as his magenta eyes became cold and clinical. "There's a baseball diamond where-a I coach our little league about a mile-a from here. We meet there about-a 2.30 in the morning, dressed all in black, your-a hair in a black stocking. And we-a have us a _knife fight_. We-a won't be bothered." he chuckled grimly, then interposed his finger between us. "Now, I need to-a go fix Flavi's cereal." he said with a smirk, turning to one of the cabinets. I wandered over to another, leaning against the wall. "Oliver always said you were one of the best men he ever saw with an edged weapon." I commented neutrally, taking a sip of my coffee. "Fuck you, _cagna_." he snorted, closing the drawer with a slam. "I know he-a didn't qualify that shit. So you-a can just kiss my motherfucking ass, Black Mamba."

He chuckled as I took another sip of the coffee. It was very well made. "Black Mamba. I should-a have been motherfucking Black Mamba." he muttered, getting some milk out of the fridge. "Weapon of choice? If you want to stick with your pocket knife, that's fine with me." I commented as he moved to the counter, and he laughed. "Very funny, _cagna_." he murmured, rustling around in the cereal box. "Very funny!" he shouted, suddenly whirling around as I heard a gun go off and a bullet streak past my temple. My body reacted while my mind was still confused; I drop-kicked the coffee mug at Luciano as he ducked to the side, giving me enough time to unsheathe and throw the knife at my hip. It struck him dead in the chest, and he slammed up against the cabinet from the impact, his magenta eyes wide in surprise. Then he slowly slid down, coming to a halt on the cereal-splattered floor. He had fired a gun hidden inside the cereal box.

I walked over to him, relishing the bitter irony of the situation as my boots crunched on the scattered cereal and I loomed over his rapidly dying form. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes boring into mine, and then there was –nothing. A tiny trickle of blood oozed out his mouth, his head slumping back against his shoulder.

He was dead.

I bent down, yanking the bloody knife out of his chest with a tiny scowl of hatred. I stood, still staring down at the body, but whipped around when I heard a tiny gasp. Flavio was standing in the doorway, his blue eyes wide as he stared at the body. I stifled a curse as he looked up at me, unnaturally calm. Where was the tears, the denial, some anger, even? He had just lost his father, but he stood there as if he was made from stone. I groaned and snatched Luciano's towel off the counter, using it to wipe the knife. "It was not my intention to do this in front of you." I said at length. "For that, I'm sorry. But you can take my word for it," I added as I slid the knife home. " _Your father had it coming_." I turned to face him, the cereal crunching under my feet as I narrowed my eyes at the offspring of my enemy. "When you grow up, if you still feel…raw about it, I'll be waiting." I told him softly, then left the kitchen, crunching the cereal as I went.

 _For those regarded as warriors, when engaged in combat, the vanquishing of thine enemy can be the warrior's only concern. Suppress all human emotion and compassion. Kill whoever stands in thy way, even if that be Lord God, or Buddha himself. This truth lies at the heart of the art of combat._

I got in my truck and crossed out Number 2: Copperhead, Luciano Vargas.

* * *

Cast:

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Bill: Oliver Kirkland/2p England

Vernita Green (Copperhead): Luciano Vargas/2p North Italy

Nikkia Bell (Vernita Green's daughter): Flavio Vargas/2p South Italy

Dr. Laurence Bell (Vernita Green's husband): Lovina Abelli/fem!South Italy


	2. Chapter 2: The Blood-Spattered Bride

**_Chapter Two: the Blood-Spattered Bride_**

* * *

 _Four years and six months earlier in the city of El Paso, Texas_

* * *

The radio sputtered and fizzed as police units solemnly indentified and inspected corpses. Blood stains and bullet shells attracted flies in abundance, and the hot Texas sun wasn't helping much either. A car pulled up the outside of the church, and an albino man looked out as a blonde approached him. "Well, give me all ze gory details, West." he sighed, and the blonde rolled his eyes, hands on his hips. "It's a goddamn massacre, _bruder_. Zey wiped out ze whole wedding party, execution style." he said as the older German exited the car, and they began walking back into the church, side by side. "Give me a figure." the albino murmured, scanning the outside of the crime scene with bright red eyes. "Nine dead bodies, und we're talking ze whole shebang. Bride. Groom. Reverend. Reverend's wife. Hell, zey even shot ze old man zat plays ze organ."

"It would appear to me zat somebody objected to zis union." the albino German murmured as they came through the doorway, looking around at the carnage. " _Mein Gott_ , how can you stand zis, Ludwig?" he added, making a face at the reek of blood and fresh corpses. Ludwig shrugged. "Dunno, Gilbert. What'd I tell you though? It's like a goddamn Nicaraguan death squad." Gilbert smacked the back of his head. "You stop that blasphemy, _bruder_. We're in un house of worship." he lectured. Ludwig nodded, ashamed. " _Tut mir leid_."

They both came to a stop, more or less in the center of the cathedral as Gilbert put his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. "Well, zis is definitely the work of professionals. I'd guesstimate Mexican mafia hit squad. Four, maybe five strong." he declared, and Ludwig looked at him. "How can you tell?" Gilbert's mouth twisted in disgust. "Well, un sure und steady hand did this. Zis isn't un squirrelly amateur; zis is ze work of un old dog." He began walking forward, indicating the bodies with a curt hand gesture. "You can tell by ze cleanliness of ze carnage. Now, un kill-crazy rampage though it may be, all ze colors are kept inside ze lines." he explained as they both came to a stop at the side of a woman's corpse. "If you were a moron, you could almost admire it." he muttered under his breath, and narrowed his eyes. "Who's the bride?" he asked abruptly, pointing to the corpse, which was indeed in a blood-spattered wedding dress. Ludwig shrugged. "Don't know. Ze name on ze marriage certificate is Arlene Machiavelli. Zat's a fake. We've all just been calling her "Ze Bride", on account of the dress."

Gilbert knelt at the side of the dead woman. "You can tell she was pregnant. Man would have to be a mad dog to shoot un goddamn good-looking _frau_ in ze head like zat." Her leaned forward slightly, trying to reconstruct an image of the bride in life. "Look at her. Hay-colored hair. Big eyes. Like un blood-spattered _Engel_."

The body suddenly spat right into his eye.

"West," Gilbert began dangerously, wiping the bloody saliva out of his eye. "Yeah?" Ludwig asked in confusion. "Zis fraulien isn't dead." the albino growled, pointing to the bloody woman on the floor.

 _***Time Skip***_

The lifeline monitor beeped softly, rhythmically, as thunder rumbled in the skies outside. Rain pattered against the windows of the coma ward, turning it dark and tinting all the lights with a melancholy blue. There weren't many; those in comas didn't need light, much, and visitors were few. But someone was happy; they whistled as they strode through the halls, a jaunty little tune called " _Twisted Nerve_ ", by Bernard Herrmann. A tall brunette with a full-body tan and an oddly upright cowlick, sticking up between the bridge of a pair of dark sunglasses. His one crimson eye gleamed happily as he marched down the hall, his other eye covered by a simple black patch. He entered the nurse's changing room, still whistling happily. There was so much work to be done.

It was but the matter of moments to discard his bomber jacket and redress in the starchy white uniform, setting the nurse's hat –temporarily– in place of his dark glasses, and stabbing a needle inside an unmarked bottle full of amber fluid, drawing out about 80 milliliters and spraying a tiny jet into the air, making sure there were no air bubbles. He smiled to himself and set it down on a tray, switching out his normal eyepatch for a white one with a red cross on it. He continued whistling happily as he made his way to the coma ward, and entered the room of a certain anonymous, unconscious wardmate with a crash of thunder and the furious driving of rain.

He set the tray down, looking at the unconscious blonde curiously. He briefly held his hand over her mouth, trying to feel for her breath; it was there, but extremely faint, barely present at all. He cocked his head to the side and smirked.

"I might never have liked you." he stated flatly, as if the patient was conscious and able to hear his every word, his voice low and husky. "Point in fact, I despise you." he added with a small chuckle, tilting his head a little further. "But that shouldn't suggest that I don't respect you." he finished, turning to the tray and picking up the needle. "Dying in our sleep is a luxury that our kind is rarely afforded." he murmured, uncapping it with a pop. "My gift to you."

He bent down, poking the needle through her IV line, and was about to inject it when his cellphone rang. "For fuck's sake!" he snarled, wrenching the needle out and slamming it down on the tray, fumbling his phone out of his pocket. "Hello _Oliver_." he hissed into the phone, his one remaining eye irritated.

" _What's her condition?_ "

Allen smirked down at the sleeping woman. "Comatose." he purred happily.

" _Where is she?_ "

"I'm standing over her right now." Allen chuckled, shifting from one foot to the other as he grinned at the body.

" _That's my boy. Allen, you're going to abort the mission._ "

"WHAT?!" the brunette screeched, slamming his fist into the nearby wall, making the lights flicker.

" _We owe her better than that._ "

"YOU DON'T OWE HER SHIT!" Allen snarled as he stomped to the opposite side of the bed, over by the window.

" _Will you keep your voice down, poppet?_ "

Allen's teeth squeaked as he ground them together. "You don't owe her shit!" he repeated in a low hiss, literally trembling with rage.

" _May I say one thing?_ "

"Speak!" Allen muttered, throwing his free hand up in the air.

" _All four of you beat the ever-loving sugar out of that woman. But you didn't kill her. And I put a bullet in her head, but her heart just kept on beating. Now, you saw that yourself, with your own lovely blood-red eye, did you not?_ "

Aforementioned eye was twitching steadily.

" _We've done a lot of things to this poppet, and if she ever wakes up, we'll do many more. But one thing we won't do is sneak into her room in the night, like a filthy rat, and kill her in her sleep. And the reason we won't do that thing is because that thing would lower us. Don't you agree, Mister Jones?_ "

"I guess." Allen muttered resentfully, knowing that he really had no choice on agreeing, not if he wanted to live.

" _Do you really have to guess?_ "

Allen let out a vexed sigh. "No, I don't really have to guess. I know." he muttered obediently.

" _Come on home, poppet._ "

"Affirmative."

" _You're my favorite enforcer~._ "

"Love you too, psycho. Bye-bye." Allen muttered, then flicked the phone shut. He strode back over to the bedside and stood, arms folded, over the comatose woman. He was very obviously exuding a layer of forced calm. "Thought that was pretty fucking funny, didn't you, bitch?" he growled, tapping a foot against the floor. "Hmm?" he grunted when he, obviously, received no response. His lip curled in a sneer. "Word of advice, bitch. Don't you ever wake up." he snarled, glowering down at her, and without a further word, and no longer whistling, he spun on his heel and stomped out of the room.

 _Four Years Later_

The comatose, unknown woman had been transferred to a bigger ward, with other unfortunates like herself. This one was in poor repair and lit just as badly, with a few stray insects, like mosquitoes, buzzing about the sticky, humid air. One landed on the arm of "the Bride", plunging its tiny proboscis into her skin as it began sucking up blood.

A few seconds later, her eyes flew open and she shot up with a strangled, wet gasp, scaring it into flight. Her head whipped around, registering the ghostly blue-white of the hospital ward's lighting, the other comatose bodies, her greasy hair whipping about her face.

 _ **At this moment, this is me at my most…masochistic.**_

 _ **Oliver…it's your baby-**_

 **BLAM!**

With a whimpered gasp, she reached up, touching the side of her head. _Cool, hard._ She lowered her hands, then curled her fingers into a fist and knocked twice. Her honey-brown eyes widened as inarticulate horror washed over her. _Metal._ Her heart racing wildly, and electronic beeps following the beats, she lowered her hands to her stomach. It was flat and soft. Her face crumpled as inarticulate whines and moans came out of her throat. _Gone. Gone._ Shakily, she pulled up the papery fabric of her hospital shirt, finding raised, obvious scars. She let out a cry of loss, starting to sob as she curled around her stomach. Rocking back and forth atop the medical gurney, she clutched at the scars and tried to deny what she knew to be true. Her child was gone. Wrenched from her body and probably burned atop a funeral pyre. "Oh, my baby…" she whimpered, tears pouring down her face.

Slowly, shakily, she stopped sobbing, looking tearfully at her hands. "Four years. Four years." she whispered, still breathing harshly, reading the lines on her palms. She curled them into fists again, her tears returning.

Her head whipped around as she heard cheerful whistling, and she quickly laid back down, feigning her comatose state as she forcibly calmed her heart. A man in medical scrubs entered, showing another man in trucker clothes in with him. She heard one of them chuckle, and swallowed slightly. Both of them came to a stop at the end of her hospital bed, and there was a pause. "Price is 75 dollars a fuck, my friend. You getting your freak on or what?" she heard an American-accented voice say, and went cold with both fear and outrage. "Oh, yeah, boy." she heard the other man say, accompanied by the rustling of clothes as he took out his wallet and paid the doctor. She swallowed again as the doctor counted out the money.

"20, 40, 60, 75. Right. Now, here's the rules." he said in a practiced tone, as if he had run through this several times before. She wished to god that he hadn't, but doubted so. He cleared his throat and continued. "Rule Number One: no punching her. Nurse comes in tomorrow and she got her a shiner or less some teeth, jig's up. So no knuckle sandwiches under no circumstances. And by the way, this little cunt's a spitter, it's a motor-reflex thing. But spit or no, no punching. Now, are absolutely positively clear on rule Number One?" he asked briskly as she fought to contain her rage. "Yeah." the other man chuckled, and the doctor went on. "Good. Now Ruler Number Two: no monkey bites, no hickeys. In fact, no leaving no marks of no kind. After that, it's all good buddy."

She was going to kill them. She was going to kill them both.

They both chuckled. "Now, her plumbing down there don't work no more, so feel free to come in her all you want, keep the noise down, try not to make a mess. I'll be back in 20." the doctor said, then slapped the other man and made to leave the room. She heard him snap his fingers and turn back. "By the way, not all the time, but sometimes, this chick's cooch can get drier than a bucket of sand. If she dry, lube up with this and you'll be good to go. _Bon appétit_ , good buddy." he said in farewell as they both laughed.

She was going to kill them both with _fire_.

She heard the remaining man chuckle as a jacket settled at her feet, and the bed dipped with the weight of a new body. "Oh, yeah." he murmured as she felt him straddle her body. "Oh goddamn, you are the best-looking girl I've had today." he chuckled as he bent down and she felt the hot, stinking breath flowing from his mouth blast against her lips.

Without a second thought or a hint of regret, she lunged up and bit down on his jugular.

 _Arya's POV:_

After the body stopped twitching, I spat out the remaining flesh in my mouth and shoved it off me, ripping the IV line out of my arm as I swung my feet over the side of the bed and pushed off, fully intending to walk out. I grunted in surprise as my legs gave out, sending me sprawling to the ground beside the corpse, and I smacked my legs, trying to will them into movement. When it was clear that no amount of will would get them going –at present– I dragged myself over to a pitcher of water and dumped it on my face, trying to clean off the noxious man's blood. I heard the familiar whistling, and dragged myself over to the body, quickly searching it and pulling a flick knife from its belt. As the merry whistling got closer, I dragged herself laboriously across the floor, trying to get behind the doorway. "Yo, stud! Time's up, buddy! Coming in, ready or not!" the doctor called, opening the door. "Hey buddy, did you have yourself a good time, man?"

He froze at the sight of the body, throat torn out, and sprawled on the floor with blood all over his front, staining his shirt dark crimson. "Whoa…" he whispered, stopping right where I wanted him. I twisted my body out from behind the door and sliced the tendons in his ankle. He dropped with a shriek of pain, hitting his head on the ground and, most unfortunately for him, momentarily disorienting himself. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him laboriously to the doorway to the medical closet, shoving his head into the half-open door. He regained intelligence just when I got him positioned, and I grabbed the edge of the door with both hands. "Where's Oliver?!" I snarled, slamming it into his head as he yelped. "Where's Oliver!?"

He grunted as I slammed the door into him again, his face contorted in pain. "Please stop hitting me…" he whimpered, and I slammed the door on him again. "Where's Oliver?!" I demanded again, hysterically, and he groaned in pain. "I don't know who Oliver is!" he pleaded, and I slammed the door on him again. "Bullshit!"

I suddenly noticed the nametag on his shirt, which said "Buck". My eyes automatically traveled down to his hand, where he had tattooed the word "fuck" on his knuckles. My eyes unfocused as I drifted back into my memory, seeing the very same doctor standing in the very same spot as the other man at the foot of my bed.

" _Well, ain't you the slice of cutie pie they said you was? Jane Doe, huh? Oh, we don't know shit about you, do we? Well, I'm from Huntsville, Texas. My name is Buck, and I'm here to_ _ **fuck**_ _._ "

My teeth clenched as I looked down at the man slowly. "Your name is Buck. Right?" I asked quietly, making him swallow. "And you came here to fuck. _Right_?" I ground out, and his eyes bulged as he let out a tiny mew of fear. "Wait a minute, wait-" he stammered, but I let out a scream of anger and slammed the door on him as hard as I could, crushing his skull with an ugly cracking sound as his body twitched, then fell limp. I grabbed his cheap glasses and put them over my own eyes, feeling around for his keychain and pulling it out of his pocket. My lip curled in disgust. " _Pussy Wagon_. You fucker." I snarled, and slammed the door on him one last time for good measure. I collapsed against the body, panting, and rested my weakened body for a few moments before I began to strip it of its clothes.

 _***Time Skip***_

I rolled out of the elevator on a wheelchair, pushing myself across the concrete floor of the parking lot. I glanced from side to side, looking at all the liscense plates. "Texas. Okay." I muttered, pushing the wheelchair faster as I searched for my ride out. as I looked to my left, I slammed my hands down on the brakes, glaring at what most obviously belonged to the set of car keys in my breast pocket. A large, gaudy yellow truck, with the words "Pussy Wagon" emblazoned on the tailgate in pink and red. The lettering matched that of the car keys, and I grinned and rolled over to my new ride. I opened the door to the backseat, hauling myself inside with a groan as my wheelchair was sent skidding off into the depths of the parking lot.

I dragged myself across the backseat and grabbed the coat hanger on the top of the car, hauling myself upright into a sitting position with a drawn-out howl of effort. I lay against the wall, panting for a few moments, then reached over my legs and pulled the car door shut, sealing myself in. I rested for a few moments more, watching my feet as I panted heavily. I grabbed my thigh and tried to will it to move, but I had no such luck. Alright, I would start small then. I evened my breathing out, slowly, and lay back against the car door, still watching my feet. "Wiggle your big toe." I murmured to myself, trying to stretch and pull muscles that had been years out of use.

Nothing.

"Wiggle your big toe."

Still no joy.

Sensing that this would take a while, I folded my arms across my stomach and stared fixedly at my feet. I could do this. I _would_ do this, or die trying. "Wiggle your big toe." I growled, trying vainly to get at least a tiny hint of movement. "Wiggle your big toe." I whispered, straining with all my might. "Wiggle your big toe."

 _As I lay in the back of Buck's truck, trying to will my limbs out of entropy, I could see the faces of the cunts who did this to me, and the dicks responsible; members all of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad._

 _When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, it seems proof like no other that not only does God exist, you're doing his will._

 _At a time when I knew the least about my enemies, the first name on my death list, Kuro Honda, was the easiest to find._

 _But of course, when one manages the difficult task of becoming king of the Tokyo underworld, one doesn't keep it a secret, does one?_

* * *

Cast:

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Bill: Oliver Kirkland/2p England

Earl McGraw (Police officer on scene): Ludwig Beilschmidt/Germany

Edgar McGraw (Police officer arriving): Gilbert Beilschmidt/Prussia

Elle Driver (woman with an eyepatch): Allen Jones/2p America

* * *

 _ **I was wildly uncomfortable writing this chapter. Rape is just not okay under any circumstances, especially the ones in Kill Bill. It's even more nauseating when you're writing one of your own characters into the wildly uncomfortable scenario. To distract you from such unpleasantness, I present to you the mental image of 2p!America in a nurse's outfit!**_

… _ **okay, maybe that's just more unpleasantness.**_


	3. Chapter 3: The Origin of Kuro

**_Chapter Three: The Origin of Kuro_**

* * *

 _Kuro Honda was born on an American military base in Tokyo, Japan. The half-Japanese, half-Chinese-American army brat made his first acquaintance with death at the age of 9. It was at that age he witnessed the death of his parents at the hands of Japan's most ruthless yakuza boss, Boss Matsumoto._

* * *

Kuro shivered, hiding under the expensive bed from Paris that his mother had bought as he watched the man smoking in _his_ father's seat, a cigar smoldering on his lips. He snorted the smoke out of his nose, like a bull, and Kuro's frightened red eyes darted to his mother Sakura, held in the grip of a knife-bearing thug, who chuckled nastily to himself. Kuro's gaze then moved to his father, and filled with warm admiration. Wang Yao was not going down without a fight; his deep brown eyes gleamed with battle-fury as he ducked under the slash of another knife-bearing thug, blocking his next wild swing and grunting as he karate-chopped the man in the neck, then wrapped his hands around the man's arm and broke it with a snap. The thug let out a gargling scream, before Yao whipped him around like a ball and sent him flying into a glass cabinet.

Yao growled, looking around for the next man to dare try and harm his family, his light brown hair hanging off one shoulder as his ponytail began to be in more and more danger of coming undone. Another thug let out a snarl of rage, running at his father with another drawn blade, and Kuro involuntarily tensed, watching his parent as he danced backward, avoiding the vicious swipes of the knife before laying into the thug with his fists. Kuro's eyes shone as they traced Yao, and his mouth parted slightly in joy. He silently vowed, that if he should ever live and learn to fight, he would do so like his father. Yao dealt out two final blows to the thug's face, sending him in a broken spiral backward as his bloodied body was sent flying into the bookshelves lining the east wall. Kuro's father snarled and ran towards the man, smashing his head into the wall and crushing his skull.

Yao whirled to deal with the next opponent –and choked as a sword was driven through his abdomen. The man responsible was a sleazy yakuza thug dressed in a cheap white suit, with cheap rings all over his skinny fingers, and a cheap sword driven through Yao's back and out his shirtfront. Kuro's mother wailed as the nine-year's eyes widened in disbelief. Papa couldn't have failed…he was Papa. There was absolutely no way that he could have been defeated. The man grinned and yanked the sword out of Kuro's father as Yao fell to the ground with a wet smack and a groan of pain. He fell inches away from Kuro, who flinched back at the sight of his father's blood spattered face. Perhaps even more frightening was the look of apology in Yao's deep brown eyes, the look that said " _I am sorry for failing you. I am sorry for letting my son down. I am sorry for dying._ " Yao's lips began to move, perhaps to whisper out his name or a final, vain comfort, but then the man stabbed his sword right through his father's brain, and the spirit of Wang Yao left the world for good.

Kuro let out a tiny whimper of loss as the light left his father's eyes, but quickly covered his mouth with his hands. The man in the cheap white suit grinned and pulled the sword from his father's head while his boss and the only remaining thug laughed uproariously. The boss, perhaps because of his overpriced cigar, hacked and coughed out a bit of phlegm before stubbing on his cigar on father's chair. Kuro's eyes narrowed animalistically, and if he hadn't known it was suicide, he wouldn't rushed out and attacked that man. His eyes widened again however, as the boss laboriously got to his feet and strode across the room to Sakura.

He snatched her by the hair with a low growl, making her yelp as Kuro's eyes, unseen, widened pitifully. He watched the slippered feet of his mother and the yakuza boss approach the bed, his mother whimpering all the way, and looked up as there was a fearful creak. He looked up at the bed frightfully, fearing the worst, but his mother seemed to be alone on it, although she was whimpering and crying out pitifully. The boss chuckled, and Kuro's blood ran cold as he heard the silvery sound of a drawn sword. "Oh." the yakuza chuckled, taking the offered sword from the man in white. Kuro heard his mother whimpering, and gulped faintly. Both adults screamed above him, one with effort and one with fear, and Kuro froze as the point of the blade buried itself in the floorboards, inches from his upturned face. He gazed upon it in fear, because the fact that it had pierced all the way through the bed could only mean one thing.

Soft tears began forming in the nine-year old Asian's eyes, and trickling down his cheeks. "Mommy…" he whimpered, starting to cry silently as blood began to spread across the bed, eventually soaking all the way through and dripping down upon his face. Frozen and unable to move, Kuro heard the boss laughing as he exited the room along with his few remaining cronies, but the man in the white suit paused in the doorway. Kuro flinched, although he was still frozen in pain and loss, at the sound of gunshots shattering one of the bottles of whiskey his father's friends kept leaving in their house, and the man deftly kicking the still-smoldering butt of the cigar onto the alcohol as brightly flickering flames instantly sprouted and began to grow through the room.

* * *

 _He swore revenge. Luckily for him, Boss Matsumoto was a pedophile. At age eleven,_ _ **he got his revenge**_ _._

* * *

With a scream, Kuro plunged the sword into the gut of the man below him. Boss Matsumoto groaned, blood spattering his teeth from the inside of his body as the younger Asian sat atop him, grinning dangerously. The boss's private room was dark; they were alone on the bed. Matsumoto was stripped down to his loincloth with Kuro straddling him, luckily still fully clothed. He did not wish for any part of his skin to come into contact with this complete and utter scum.

" _Look at me, Matsumoto._ " he crooned in perfect Japanese. " _Take a good look at my face._ " His delirious grin widened as he twisted the blade in the older man's stomach, making him scream and writhe. " _Look at my eyes._ " The blade sank deeper as aforementioned red eyes burned like hellfire itself. " _Look at my mouth. Do I look familiar? Do I look like somebody…you murdered!_ " he howled, yanking the blade out of the yakuza's stomach as blood fountained up and the older man screamed and screamed and screamed. Kuro watched his ending moments without compassion, blood soaking the front of his face, hair, and clothes as he sat atop Matsumoto's stomach, and tilted his head back when the death spasms were done, letting out a long breath, as if relieved from a terrible burden.

He heard footsteps from the hallway, as to be expected; the boss yakuza's final struggles were rather loud, and his screams even louder. He waited until the bodyguards broke into the room –only two of them, how pathetic– before deigning to let his eyes wander over to the doorway. They both aimed their guns at him, but they were too slow, far too slow, and their pitiful lead bullets only impacted what was left of the corpse. He waited until they had emptied their clips and realized that he was no longer on the bed with the body before smiling grimly. He did so love the undersides of beds. Eyes burning with purpose, he shot once, taking out the knee of one of the thugs and sending him to the floor, where a quick bullet to the head dispatched him for good. A shot to ankle and then the face of the other thug took care of that one as well.

 _By 20, he was one of the top male assassins in the world._

 _At 25, he did his part in the killing of nine innocent people, including my unborn daughter, in a small wedding chapel in El Paso, Texas. But on that day, four years ago, he made one big mistake._

 _ **He should have killed ten**_ _._

 _However, before satisfaction would be mine, first things first._

"Wiggle your big toe."

It twitched, and she smiled in victory. "Hard part's over. Now, let's get these other piggies wiggling."

* * *

 _Thirteen Hours Later_

* * *

Arya stepped out of the truck, glorying in the limbs that once again obeyed her will. Closing the side door behind her, she walked to the driver's seat and got in. Starting up the truck, she pulled out of the parking space with a screech and took off.

* * *

Cast:

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

O-ren Ishii: Kuro Honda/2p Japan

O-ren's father: Wang Yao/China

O-ren's mother: Sakura Honda/fem!Japan

* * *

 _ **O-ren is my favorite of the Deadly Viper squad. Perhaps because of her awesome backstory? Perhaps because of the fact she hails from Japan, the center of anime? Perhaps because her backstory is the best and really the only one developed? Perhaps because the fight and death scene involving her and the Crazy 88 were really f*cking cool? We shall never know. Also, the "normal" China is Kuro's father, and fem!Japan is his mother. I had already run out of 2p!Asians and decided what the hell, they die quickly anyways.**_


	4. Chapter 4: The Man from Okinawa

**_Chapter Four: The Man from Okinawa_**

 _Arya's POV:_

* * *

" _Welcome to Air-O. May I help you?"_

" _Okinawa. One-way."_

* * *

The first thing I did upon landing in Okinawa, Japan, was to head for the sushi shop I knew to be somewhere around…there!

I gently pushed the purple curtain aside, feeling ridiculously conspicuous in my tourist's shirt and generally Caucasian appearance, even though there were many other tourists in the area. "Hi." I said abruptly, seeing the proprietor leaning against the counter and reading a newspaper. " _Welcome._ " he quickly murmured in Japanese, setting down the paper and turning to face me. He paused as he saw my obviously "tourist" appearance, then repeated it in English. "Welcome. You English?" he asked politely, and I smiled. "Almost. American." I murmured with a sheepish grin, and he smiled. "American. Welcome, American." he said with a smile, and I nodded happily. " _Domo_." He smiled and put a hand on his chest. "My English very good."

He suddenly paused as what I had said set in. "You said " _domo_ "? Can you speak Japanese?" he asked eagerly, and I shook my head. "No, no. Just a few words I learned since yesterday." I chuckled sheepishly as I put my bag down, then nodded towards the counter. "Um, may I sit at the bar?" I asked, and he nodded. "Oh sure, sure, sure. Please sit." he said politely, and I took the time to study him as I sat down. His blonde hair was cropped short, like a native Japanese man's, although his eyebrows were inordinately thick, hanging heavily over emerald green eyes. He was dressed in a white Japanese-styled shirt with a strip of cloth rolled up and tied around his head. "What other words did you learn?" he asked eagerly as he wiped his hands clean with a towel. "Oh, just a minute." he then added, interrupting my rather clueless "…um…" as he turned to the back of the store. " _We have a customer. Bring out some tea, quickly, quickly!_ " he shouted in Japanese.

He was just turning back to me when his attendant responded. " _I'm watching my soap operas!_ " he called lazily, and the man made a face. " _Lazy bastard…_ " he murmured, yelling over his shoulder again. " _Screw your soap opera, hurry up!_ " he shouted angrily, and the youngish-sounding man interjected again. " _The tea's hot. Why don't you serve it yourself for once?_ " The green-eyed man looked about to pop with rage. "Shut up, wanker! Get your ass out here!" he snarled in English, then looked to me in mortification. "Uh, excuse me." he mumbled, turning pink. I chuckled and shook my head, signaling it was alright. "Uh, uh, uh…uh, what other Japanese do you know?" he asked, fumbling for another subject as he placed his hands on the counter. "Oh, let's see…um, " _arigato_ "?" I tried, and he smiled.

" _Arigato_. Good!" he applauded, starting to prepare some sushi as I searched my brain some more. "Um…uh, I already said _domo_ , right?" He nodded absently. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah." he mumbled, and I scanned my memory some more. " _Konn-itch-iwa_?" I tried, deliberately getting it wrong, and he looked up at me sternly. "Ah, ah, ah, ah. _Kohn-nee-chee-wah._ _Konnichi wa._ Please repeat." he instructed, aiming his finger at me, and I tried again. " _Konnichi wa_." He smiled. "Perfect! Good, good, good. You say Japanese word like you Japanese." he said happily, still pointing at me, and I laughed, leaning back. "Oh, now you're making fun of me!" I laughed, and he looked back up from his sushi with an alarmed expression. "No, no, no, no. Serious business." He then smiled and pointed at me again. "Pronunciation very good. You say _arigato_ like _we_ say _arigato_." We both chuckled as he continued making the sushi. "Well, thank you. I mean… _arigato_." I said playfully, and we both laughed again.

"Mm-hmm. You should learn Japanese." he said without looking up from his work. "Very easy." he added with a smirk, and I laughed. "Heh, no kidding. I heard it was kinda hard." He grinned. "Most difficult. But, you have Japanese tongue." he said firmly, pointing at me again, then picked up the sushi and set it on the counter. "Okay, okay. _Sorry to have kept you waiting_." he apologized in Japanese, then flushed and corrected himself. "Oh. Oh, my God." he mumbled, placing his knife back in its holder. " _Hey, what the hell happened to the tea?! Hurry up, godamnit!_ " he called out in Japanese as he took down a bigger knife, starting to sharpen it as he grumbled to himself. " _Lazy oaf…_ "

A younger-looking man with brown hair and an extremely odd curl that made my heart stop for a minute, fearing the worst, walked through a doorway that led deeper into the shop. He wore a clean white apron, a grumpy expression, and was possessed of two bright green eyes. It was the eyes that finally made me relax, as well as the fact that he got right in my face and asked, in the wrong language and the wrong voice, " _What d'ya want?_ " I looked at him askance. "I beg your pardon?" I asked in English, and the man at the counter looked up, miming a sipping motion with one hand. "Uh, drink." he covered rapidly, and I laughed sheepishly. "Oh, yeah. Um, a bottle of warm _sake_ , please." I asked politely, and the owner looked up again happily. "Warm _sake_? Very good!" he said enthusiastically, and jabbed a finger at his assistant. " _One warm sake!_ "

The brunette's eyebrows shot up. " _Sake? In the middle of the day?_ " he asked disapprovingly, bending down and eyeing me suspiciously, like I was some kind of loose woman, intent on taking over his clean and holy establishment. The owner slammed his hands down on the bar. " _Day, night, afternoon –who gives a damn?! Get the sake! Get the sake!_ " he snapped, and the man behind me reared his head back, as if offended. " _How come I always have to get the sake?!_ " he snarled, throwing his hands up in the air. " _You listen well…_ " he growled, walking around me to jab a finger at his employer's face. " _For thirty years, you make the fish, I get the sake. If this were the military, I'd be General by now!_ " he shrilled, and the man behind the bar smiled sweetly. " _Oh, so you'd be General, huh?_ " he snickered, then grabbed his attendant by his outstretched finger. " _If you were General, I'd be Emperor!_ " he shouted, dragging the other man across the bar, lifting his outstretched arm over my head as he walked towards the other end of the counter. " _And you'd still get the sake! So shut up and get the sake!_ " he yelled as he let go, sending the other man staggering a few feet towards what I guessed to be the liquor cabinet. "Do you understand?" he snapped in English, and the younger man stopped with a pout, looking at me as he pointed to his head. " _I don't put gel in it, okay? It's just like this,_ do you understand me?" he mocked, and the proprietor threw a blade at him as he swore and ran out of the room.

"Sorry." the proprietor mumbled, looking at me, and I smiled and quickly shook my head. " _What was I saying…_ " he murmured to himself, rubbing his hands, then smiled as he remembered. "Oh! First time in Japan?" he asked brightly, and I nodded. "Uh-huh." He smiled as he began fiddling around behind the bar. "Ah. What brings you to Okinawa?" he asked curiously, and I smiled slightly. "I came to see a man." I said softly. I could hear the speculation in his tone as he said "Oh, yeah? You have a friend live in Okinawa?" he asked slyly, chopping some vegetables. "Not quite." I smiled, and he raised his truly monumental eyebrows as he laid the knife to the side and began to polish a glass. "Not friend?"

"I've never met him."

He laughed a little. " _Never_? Who is he? May I ask?" he chuckled, and I blinked slowly, once. "Arthur Kirkland." I said softly, and the glass slipped from his hands, shattering on the floor as he froze solid. He looked up at me, seemingly having aged a hundred years as secrets and doubt flickered deep inside his emerald-green eyes. " _What do you want with Arthur Kirkland?_ " he asked in a hushed whisper after a long, long pause, his voice choked and dry. I looked him dead in the eye. " _I need Japanese steel._ " I replied earnestly, and he looked at the bar for a few moments before looking back up at me. " _Why do you need Japanese steel?_ " he interrogated, leaning across the bar and narrowing his eyes at me. " _I have vermin to kill._ " I hissed, my own eyes narrowing as I refused to back down. The fuzzy monstrosities that he called eyebrows rose into the air as he replied in English "You must have big rats, you need Arthur Kirkland steel."

I leaned across the bar. "Huge."

 _***Time Skip***_

Arthur Kirkland had been going by the more Japanese-sounding alias of Hattori Hanzo for the past few years, which he explained softly to me as he led me up the stairs to a secret room above his shop. I stared at the far wall as I climbed through the trap door, walking across the dusty floor as if in a daze. The swords, hanging in racks on the dusty wood, were _beautiful_. Arthur remained in the trapdoor entrance, watching me. I just couldn't stop staring at the swords; even though they were the most deadly of their kind on earth, they were still beautiful enough to make tears prick at the corner of my eyes. I reached out to touch one, reverently, but then remembered myself and pulled my hand back, looking at him. "May I?" I asked worshipfully, and he inclined his head, flicking his hand at the swords. "You may." he intoned solemnly, and I reached out again. "Wait." he called, stopping me. "Try the second one down." he advised as I looked back at him, and I turned my eyes back to that magnificent rack of swords, raising my hands the suggested two places and plucking the sword off the rack. I laughed giddily as I held it in my hands; it felt like the metal was singing to me.

I chuckled awkwardly at him, still giddy, then swung the sword around and unsheathed it, slowly. I could see the reflection of my intoxicated eyes in the mirror-like blade. I unsheathed it fully with a slight swish, watching Arthur as he chuckled and approached me. "Funny," he murmured. "You like samurai swords…I like baseball." He pulled a baseball out from behind his back, tossing it up in the air a few times. He suddenly threw it at me, and I reacted instinctively, flicking the blade around and cutting the oncoming object into two neat halves. He nodded in respect, looking back up at me. " _I wanted to show you these._ " he began quietly, slowly walking towards the wall of swords.

" _However…someone such as you, who knows so much, must surely know…I no longer make instruments of death._ " he added, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes. " _What I have here, I keep for their aesthetic and sentimental value._ " Arthur finished, turning to face me sternly. " _Yet proud as I am of my life's work…I have retired._ " he told me flatly, taking the sword from me gently and sheathing it with a snap. He smiled at me wearily, then turned to put the sword back on the rack. "Then give me one of these." I said stubbornly, and he hmphed as he set it down. "These are not for sale." he said firmly, and I snorted. "I didn't say "sell me". I said "give me"." I chuckled, and he laughed and turned to face me again. "Why should I help you?" he asked incredulously, and I narrowed my eyes as he struck my most sensitive nerve. "Because my vermin is a former student of yours. And considering the student, I'd say you have a rather _large_ obligation." I hissed, and his emerald eyes went wide.

Slowly, Arthur Kirkland crossed the dusty attic, and reached the window, seemingly lost in thought. Reaching up, as if in a trace, he slowly traced the name " _Oliver_ " on the grime-encrusted window, before walking towards the trapdoor, not even glancing in my direction. " _You can sleep here._ " he murmured as he reached the trapdoor, looking over his shoulder. " _It will take me a month to make the sword._ " he sighed, then dropped down. " _I suggest you spend it practicing._ " he added, looking at me in wonder as he closed the wooden cover behind him. I crossed to the window and rubbed out the hated name, sucking in a deep breath to fortify my nerves.

* * *

 _One Month Later_

* * *

Both Arthur and his assistant –whom I had come to know as Lovino Vargas– were dressed in white robes as he offered me the sword in yet another hidden room in his sushi shop, robes I too wore. Arthur solemnly slid the sword out of its sheath, Lovino respectfully grabbing the sheath and taking it away. Arthur flipped the sword around, looking up and down the blade as he held it above him, like he was praying, inspecting it from all angles. He sighed as he balanced the bottom edge of the blade on his arm, holding it flat out in front of him. " _I have completed doing…what I swore an oath to God, 28 years ago, to never do again._ " he whispered hoarsely, staring at the blade as if it held all the sorrow in the world within its reflection. " _I have created "something that kills people." And in that purpose, I was a success. I've done this because philosophically, I am sympathetic to your aim._ "

He drew the sword back, and Lovino helped him to sheath it with the simple, elegant grace the Japanese seemed to carry with style. Funny, how neither of them were native Japanese. " _I can tell you with no ego, this is my finest sword._ " Arthur added, interrupting my thoughts, as the blade slid home with a soft _ting_. " _If on your journey, you should encounter God, God will be cut._ " He sighed again and held it out as I took the katana with reverent hands. " _Yellow-haired warrior, go._ " he whispered softly, and I nodded, my eyes watering just the tiniest bit. My hands closed tightly upon the weapon I would use to wreak my vengeance.

" _Domo_." I whispered.

* * *

Cast:

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Hattori Hanzo: Arthur Kirkland/England

Hattori Hanzo's assistant: Lovino Vargas/South Italy

* * *

 ** _For those who wonder, Oliver and Arthur are in no way related in this particular story. They just happen to have the same last name. And I'm sorry about making Hattori Hanzo Caucasian, but again, ran out of Asian characters. Not to mention I thought the idea of Romano and England running a sushi shop in Okinawa amusing._**


	5. Chpt 5: Showdown at House of Blue Leaves

**_Chapter Five: Showdown at House of Blue Leaves_**

* * *

 _Arya's POV:_

 _It was one year after the massacre in El Paso, Texas, that Oliver backed his Nippon progeny financially and philosophically in his Shakespearean-in-magnitude power struggle with the other yakuza clans over who would rule vice in the city of Tokyo._

A slim, effortlessly elegant black-haired man of 26 sat upright in his chair, his unearthly crimson eyes clear and focused. Just behind him and to the right stood an effeminate man in a half-open crimson shirt and black cap ducked low over his eyes, and further right a woman with a black bow and a sharply-cut black dress. To his left was a bulky man of obvious Aryan descent, with blonde hair, light fuchsia eyes, and a scar on one cheek.

 _When the final sword was sheathed, it was Kuro Honda and his powerful posse, the Crazy 88, that proved the victor._

 _The pretty lady to Kuro's right who's dressed like she's a villain on Star Trek is Kuro's lawyer, best friend, and second lieutenant, the half-Belarusian half-Japanese Natalia Braginsky –another former protégée of_ _ **Oliver's**_ _._

The other yakuza bosses at the table –all men– were laughing and making merry, all except one. Natalia and Kuro smiled politely along with the others, and ignored the one dark cloud at the far end. The two behind Kuro just looked bored.

 _The stoner in the red shirt is Kuro's personal bodyguard, 20-year old Wang Zao. Zao may be an opium addict, but what he lacks in discipline he makes up for in madness._

Zao smiled at the obviously high girl as she tottered along the parapet of a high-rise. " _Go Mei!_ " he slurred, and she giggled, throwing her arms up in the air. " _I just feel so freeeee-_ " Her foot suddenly missed its grip, and even high, she realized something was wrong as her body suddenly began to free-fall backwards. " _WHOA WHOA WHOA_ _–EEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!_ "

 **Splat.**

Zao leaned over the brink, laughing merrily. " _That'll teach you to get high with strange men, eh?_ " he sneered, then shrugged and took another hit.

 _See what I mean?_

 _The blonde German with the black suit and scar is Lutz Beilschmidt, the head general of Kuro's personal army, the Crazy 88._

 _And just in case you were wondering "How could a half-breed Japanese-Chinese American become the boss of all bosses in Tokyo, Japan?"_

 _I'll tell you. The subject of Kuro's blood and nationality came up before the council only once –on the night Kuro assumed power over the crime council._

All the bosses, Kuro included, raised a toast to him and themselves, still laughing merrily. All except for the one on the far end.

 _The man who seems bound and determined to break the mood is Boss Tanaka. And what Boss Tanaka thinks is…_

Tanaka suddenly slammed his fist down on his decorative plate, smashing it and getting the attention of all the other men and women in the room, as well as utterly ruining the food atop it. He grimly inspected his sleeves for any remaining bits of food as the other bosses stared, shocked and angry. " _Boss Tanaka! What's the meaning of this outburst! This is a time for celebration!_ " one of them yelled in Japanese, and Tanaka slowly looked over at him. " _And what exactly are we celebrating?_ " he snorted. " _The perversion of our illustrious council?_ " One of the other leaders slammed his hands on the table angrily. " _I will not tolerate this! You're disrespecting our brother. Apologize!_ " he barked, but Kuro clapped his hands twice, making the others fall silent. " _Tanaka-san, of what perversion do you speak?_ " he asked politely in his deep, calm voice, and the other man stopped wiping his wrists as he glared at the crimson-eyed man.

" _My father, along with yours, and along with yours, started this council._ " he began, flicking his eyes towards some of the other yakuza members as he spoke. " _And while_ _ **you laugh like stupid donkeys**_ _, they weep in the afterlife!_ " he roared, and the men around the table instantly withdrew daggers or started to rise, outraged. " _Shut up!_ " Tanaka barked over the general outcries. He slowly around slowly as he continued " _…over the perversion committed today._ " One of the bosses next to Kuro slammed a fist on the table. " _Outrageous! Tanaka, it is you who insults this council! Bastard!_ " He threw his napkin at the other boss, which landed on his folded arms. Tanaka paused for a moment before throwing it back. " _Fuck face!_ "

" _ **Gentlemen**_ _._ " Kuro coughed warningly, bringing them all to silence once more. His blood-red eyes slowly swept his audience. " _Tanaka obviously has something on his mind. By all means, allow him to express it._ " Tanaka nodded impatiently as the other man spoke, twisting his fingers together angrily. " _I speak of the perversion done to this council, which I love more than my own children-"_ he began, dangerously quiet. " _BY MAKING A CHINESE JAP-AMERICAN HALF-BREED DEMON ITS LEADER!"_ he roared as Kuro leapt to his feet and ran gracefully across the table. In one powerful slice, he unsheathed the sword at his side and decapitated the outspoken boss, making the other men gasp and recoil as the head went flying.

Zao smirked slightly, as did Natalia.

Kuro waited until the blood stopped squirting before standing and lowering his blade. " _So that you understand how serious I am, I'm going to say this in English._ " he murmured, then flicked the blade, sending blood droplets spattering across another boss's face as he let out a yelp. He drew the sword across his middle, then slid it home in its sheath. He surveyed the group impassively, then began, as Natalia started translating into Japanese for him.

"As your leader-"

" _Anata no rīdā to shite-_ "

"-I encourage you from time to time, and always in a respectful manner, to question my logic."

"- _watashi no ronri ni gimon o, keii no hōhō de, tsuneni sonotokidoki ni naru koto o o susume, to_."

He smiled, holding his hand to his chest.

"If you're unconvinced a particular plan of action I've decided is the wisest, tell me so! But allow me to convince you, and I promise you right here and now, no subject will ever be taboo."

"- _made tabū dekinaku narimasu migi imakoko de anata o yakusoku_ -"

Kuro lost the friendly demeanor he had been previously projecting. "Except, of course, the subject that was just under discussion." he purred, friendly as a rat about to eat its young.

"The price you pay, for bringing up either my Chinese or American heritage as a negative is –I collect your fucking head." he hissed, holding up Tanaka's decapitated head. "Just like this fucker here."

"- _tada, koko de kono yōna orokana_."

"Now, if any of you sons of bitches _got anything else to say,_ _ **now's the fucking time**_ _!_ " Kuro roared, holding the head aloft, and ran his crimson eyes along the table of cowering, silent bosses slowly. "I didn't think so." he sneered, and dropped the decapitated head contemptuously. He passed his katana to his other hand, then bowed slightly to the others. " _Gentlemen, this meeting is adjourned._ "

 _***Time Skip***_

After I landed in Tokyo, I quickly ascertained where Kuro was going to be for the night, who would be with him, and how he would travel there. Reluctantly, I decided to meet him at his destination, a restaurant/nightclub called the House of Blue Leaves, since he always traveled with several members of his posse on both motorcycles and ordinary vans. Natalia usually drove the van Kuro was in, with Lutz in the back and Yao in shotgun, which would make attacking him on the street impractical. I would have to wait until they were all calm, relaxed, possibly drunk, and not even remotely suspecting what havoc I would soon wreak upon them. I rented a yellow bike, which came with an obnoxiously bright yellow motorcycle suit and helmet.

To my surprise and slight, rather unholy joy, I actually managed to pull up alongside the very car Kuro was in on my way to the restaurant. How did I know? Natalia Braginsky, chatting away obliviously on her cell phone, probably talking to a female friend. My fists clenched slightly on the handles of the bike. I remembered the ringtone from that phone, an obnoxious tune called " _Auld Lang Syne_ ", I remembered hearing it while I was lying on the floor of an old Texas church, battered, bloody, bruised, and hearing her chatter away just as obliviously.

I revved the engine of my bike and ran through the red light.

That settled it then. No mercy for the likes of _these_ people.

 _***Time Skip***_

I watched Kuro and his posse stride through the bar like they owned the place, and not the two men bowing and scraping before them, a pair of former Lithuanian and Polish immigrants who had apparently decided to go into business together. Practically bent over double in their homage, they bowed the yakuzas into the very best room of the establishment, and I tipped my drink back as I heard them descending the stairs again, the Lithuanian chattering rapidly to the Pole as the Polish man (oddly enough) chewed on a piece of bubble gum. I glanced up at the rooms the yakuza had been appointed, and walked up the stairs. I didn't recognize any of the boisterous, cheery voices that spoke as I put my ear to the thin paper wall, but then again, Kuro always had been quiet. I involuntarily ducked backwards as a small, sharp projectile burst through the thin paper and whizzed past my face, looking over and seeing a small dart with a bright red piece of fabric hanging off it embedded in the wall.

A marker of some kind.

I quickly put my foot into the corner of some woodworking, and faster than thought, climbed up to the ceiling to wedge myself into a corner, looking down and praying nobody had noticed my quick escape. Sure enough, the door to the private parlor slammed open, and Wang Zao stalked out, unsheathing a short dagger as he did. He looked from left to right, slowly, scanning along the lines of the upper balconies, but all the people there were relaxed and obviously nonthreatening. He looked down at the dance floor, but luckily did not look up, because I felt as if my arms would give out any second. I quickly readjusted my foot, which nearly got my caught, as it made a creaking sound that caused him to whip his head to the right. I heard the women on the dancing floor singing some kind of Japanese pop as I struggled to keep my arms in their proper positions, and Zao eventually sheathed his knife with a grunt of disgust. He went over and yanked the marker from the wall, returning to the private room and not-quite-slamming the door behind him.

I took that as my cue to slowly relax and let myself fall to the floor, making sure not to cause a thump. I went down the stairs, fully intending to get ready to cause some havoc and mayhem, and ignoring the rather obnoxious music pouring from the dance floor. The singers weren't half bad, but it wasn't really my style of music. I chuckled as I heard the two owners passing by me again. " _You have to say "Yes, yes, yes" to any selfish demands they make._ " the Lithuanian hissed in worried Japanese. " _They, like, totally demand ridiculous things!_ " the Pole, by the accent, complained, and I saw the brunette Lithuanian elbow him as they rushed past. " _S-shut up! Do you know what would happen if they heard you?!_ " he squeaked, and the Pole snorted as I heard their footsteps receding behind me. " _What's gonna happen?_ " he murmured arrogantly, blowing a bubble.

" _Did you hear about the Tanaka clan? You're gonna get your head chopped off, Feliks!_ "

" _Like, whatever, Toris._ "

Just as I finished zipping my shirt up, I heard it. That hated, hated ringtone. I froze solid. _No. Surely I'm not that lucky._ The ringtone stopped as I heard a familiar voice. " _Yes, it's me. Yes._ " I slowly pushed the door to my stall open, and my eyes narrowed as I caught sight of the Belarusian. " _Yes. And if you give us a contact number, we will get back to you._ " she murmured impatiently, rubbing her forehead as if irritated by the caller.

An evil little lightbulb popped up above my head.

 _3_ _rd_ _Person POV:_

" _Ey! You! Who do you remind me of?_ " one of the drunken yakuza members slurred, putting a finger between his teeth as he frowned at the blonde Pole. " _Ah! A Barbie doll!_ " he crowed, to the uproarious laughter of all the other yakuzas. " _You're right, he does look like Barbie!_ " Toris chirped nervously, a trickle of terrified sweat running down his cheek as Feliks began to twitch. One of the others raised a swaying, drunken hand. " _Barbie! Four pepperoni pizzas!_ " he demanded, and Feliks sweatdropped. " _That's, like, not on our menu-_ " he began, but the yakuza made as if to get up, using his katana as a prop. " _I don't care, bring them, godamnit!_ " he roared, making Toris squeak in terror as Feliks looked down at one of the girls tugging on his shirt. " _Hey, hey, Barbie, give me a kiss!_ " she giggled, pointing to her lips as the others all "oohed" and Feliks turned bright red, although Toris suspected it was more from anger than embarrassment.

" _ **KURO HONDA!**_ "

The merriment suddenly ceased at the loud voice from downstairs.

" _You and I have unfinished business!_ "

All of the yakuza members burst out of the room, and upon seeing the situation, opened the doors for their master and his bodyguards as well. Natalia, one corner of her mouth bloodied, was standing fearful and shaking by the main entrance, one arm holding herself up. As Kuro sedately walked out of the apartment, Zao following close behind, and came to a stop by the rails, the person responsible slowly slid out from behind Natalia; blonde, brown-eyed, and eerily familiar to a certain yakuza boss as his crimson eyes widened painfully. " _Aryana Thompson._ " he whispered, as if in disbelief. Their eyes met as memories of the last time they had seen each other seemed to run through both man and woman.

Kuro; beating this woman into the ground, breaking her bones and bloodying her face.

Arya: Laying on the ground, and staring up at the face of her attacker.

With a grunt, Arya suddenly swung her sword down and cut Natalia's left arm clean off, causing the Japanese-Belarusian woman to shriek and fall to her knees, crumbling to the ground and thrashing in agony as the spray from the blood coated the yellow jacket Arya wore. Kuro didn't even blink as Arya slowly walked around the puddle of blood, heading for the dais, and the occupants of the restaurant fled screaming as one huddled mass, leaving the screams of Natalia drowned out amidst the general cries of woe and fear. Arya kept right on walking through the crowd, stopping right before the bridge that crossed from the dance floor to the stage. She stared right into Kuro's eyes, a small trickle of blood on her forehead and cheek from the spray of Natalia's blood. Natalia continued crying out in agony as the restaurant was left empty of all but combatants.

Well, all but one.

Kuro spoke without looking behind him. " _Beat it, Barbie._ " he whispered, and Feliks quickly scrambled down the stairs. Toris had already fled for parts unknown. Aryana nodded slightly, and Kuro pursed his lips. " _Miki_."

One of the yakuzas glanced at him, then flipped over the balcony, landing on the bridge between the dance floor and the stage. He held his katana upright, quickly advancing upon Arya, who had a tiny smile on her face. "YAAAAAAAAAAH!" he screamed, raising his sword up to cut downward, only to stare in shock as Arya flicked her blade around, severing his, and then stabbing him through the middle. He gasped in agony as she raised him up, and then flicked his bleeding corpse into one of the pools. Kuro's eyes flashed with anger. " _Tear the bitch apart!_ " he roared, which caused all the other yakuzas to break ranks and charge down the steps, screaming threats. Three of the males were first down the steps, letting out shrill war cries as they launched themselves at the Caucasian, who ducked under their blows and spun, cutting low and deep into their abdomens and stomachs as she blocked cuts and slashes from three sides at once.

They collapsed to the ground, and Arya looked up at the next batch descended the stairs slowly and silently. The pair, one male and one female, wove back and forth before hissing and leaping at her, slicing from both sides at once as Arya whipped her blade back and forth, making them jump away and reassess their situation. The girl moved first, letting out a yell as she cut sideways, and the male joined in too slowly as Arya spun and slashed, slicing his belly open and causing him to stumble backwards into the other pool with a splash. The woman held her sword upright, walking cautiously around Arya as the blonde followed, step by step. She slowly reached up, as if caressing the blade, and suddenly launched forward again, using her hand to give her blade some extra reach and force as Arya ducked, spun, and lunged forward herself, impaling the woman point-blank with her katana as she spit up red blood, then collapsed. Arya flicked her blade, cleaning it of blood, and approached the middle of the dance floor.

"So, Kuro…any more subordinates for me to kill?" she asked menacingly, and Kuro's eyes flickered to the left as footsteps were heard near the far staircase. "Hi!" Zao chuckled, waving to the Caucasian. He was holding a meteor hammer*, the chain looped in his right hand and the ball dangling from his left. His cheerful smile rapidly faded as he began walking down the steps, and Arya slowly walked to meet him. " _Wang Zao, right?_ " she asked in Japanese, and Zao smiled from under his cap. " _Bingo. And you're Black Mamba._ " he chuckled, the ball swinging slightly as he descended. Arya smirked mirthlessly. " _Our reputations precede us._ " she murmured, and Zao snorted. " _Don't they?_ "

"Zao…I know you feel you must protect your master, but I beg you…walk away." Arya said suddenly, switching to English, and Zao giggled like a drunken schoolgirl as he reached the bottom of the steps, holding a hand to his mouth. " _You call that begging?_ " he laughed in Japanese, and his eyes and voice suddenly darkened. " _You can beg better than that._ " He let the ball fall to the floor with a thud, the chain jingling in his hands. Arya raised a brow, then looked back up at Zao, raising her sword in a guard position. Zao smirked briefly before starting to twirl the ball and chain above his head. Arya kept her eyes on the circling ball, instinctively knowing what damage it could cause. Zao started forward, still twirling the chain above his head, and she began backing up accordingly. Zao smirked as Arya's eyes began to show a hint of fear, flickering between his face and the ball, and he snapped it forward.

Arya ducked and the heavy metal ball smashed into a support beam at the same level as her head, splintering it and carving a large hole in the frame as Zao used the momentum to twirl the chain under his arms, arching it in a deadly figure eight that sliced into the air inches from Arya's face, making her slash blindly with her sword, backing up, as Zao then turned and lightly ran the other way, spinning the chain around his arm as he went. Arya ran after, but then the bodyguard snapped the ball loose again, slamming it into the Caucasian's chest and sending her staggering backwards. He advanced again, twirling the ball and snapping it forward as it snaked around and caught Arya's sword. He wrapped the chain around his elbow once, using the extra leverage to yank the weapon out of her hands and send it clattering across the floor. He twirled the ball faster and stomped on the chain, sending the ball flying towards Arya as the impact knocked her flat on her back with a yelp.

She landed with a thud, weakly coughing out a mouthful of blood as Zao smirked icily, continuing to idly spin the ball and chain. Arya rolled to her feet, but Zao snapped the chain forward again, sending the ball forward as Arya snatched up one of the decorative tables to shield herself. The heavy metal ball and chain smashed straight through, luckily to Arya's right, and Zao yanked it back as the table splintered into smithereens. Arya was left clutching one of the table legs as Zao slowly advanced again, spinning the ball in deadly circles above his head. He let it fly again as Arya flipped backward, landing on another delicate tea table as Zao then ran forward, jumping up and lashing out with the hammer as Arya was forced to leap backwards to another table.

Steadily balancing atop the rather weakened structures, the combatants eyed each other warily. Zao expertly kicked the ball up at Arya as she ducked backwards, then used his considerable upper body strength to slam it down again, smashing the table she was on as she jumped to another in the nick of time. Zao spun the chain around his elbows rapidly, his eyes locked on Arya, twirling it around one of his legs in pure showmanship before lashing it forward again. Arya snarled as she used the table leg like a baseball bat, the wooden length smacking the ball back towards Zao as it flew past his cheek and then slammed into a support post, bouncing back to hit him in the back of the head as his black cap was knocked off and he was sent in a semi-controlled somersault, which crushed the table he was standing upon.

He looked up just in time to hiss and block the Caucasian's makeshift club with the chain, quickly twisting it around the stake and kicking Arya backwards into another table, which she also smashed. Zao stood up quickly, tossing the table leg away, and pressed a button on his chain as a circle of razor blades flicked out of the ball at the end of his chain. He whirled it around his body, this time actually using his neck as a pivot point as he sent the ball flying, slashing into Arya's shoulder as she let out a yelp, carving a deep red slice into her bloodied yellow jacket. He smirked and whipped it forward again as Arya involuntarily looked at her wound, and she looked up just in time to see the ball with its razor-sharp belt flying towards her, ducking down, but not quickly enough to stop the chain from wrapping around her neck as the ball sunk deep into another support post.

Zao, his face obviously twisted with impatience, wrapped the remaining length of the chain around one elbow, then the other, slowly approaching Arya and not losing an inch of control as the chain grew tighter and tighter around her throat. The Caucasian made strangled choking sounds as the vertebrae in her neck cracked and popped, falling to her knees as she desperately clutched at the strangling chain. Her eyes flickered towards Zao, then down at the ground, and she stomped her foot on a shattered table leg, bringing the other atop it flying into her hand. She slammed it down without mercy as the nails on the end bit deep into Zao's foot, the Asian letting out an involuntary shriek of pain as blood covered his dirty tennis shoes. Arya wrenched the nails out of his foot and swung the leg horizontally, slamming the nails deep into Zao's skull.

The chain fell slack from the bodyguard's hands, his deep red eyes slowly rolling back up into his head as he collapsed onto his side. Contemptuously, Arya wrestled the chain off her throat and walked over to her sword, picking it up and then looking at Kuro. The Asian man did not reply, looking down serenely at the short dagger he carried and unsheathing it slowly. He looked up at the sound of motorcycles revving, pausing his movements as a triumphant gleam began to flicker in his stone-cold eyes. He smiled slightly, stabbing the blade into the railing as the sound of motorcycles grew louder and louder. Arya looked from side to side, her grip on her sword tightening as she closed her eyes in self-crimination. She glared up at Kuro as his tiny smirk grew into a true smile. "Is that what I think it is?"

He chuckled. "You didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?" he asked softly, and Arya smirked mirthlessly. "You know, for a second there; yeah, I kinda did." She whipped around as rapid footsteps were heard, and Lutz ran into the restaurant, holding a katana of his own. Behind him rushed in about fifty or sixty of the Crazy 88, Kuro's yakuza gang, coming from the balconies, the antechambers, everywhere and anywhere that connected to an outside entrance. Arya's honey brown eyes darted all around herself, taking in the rush of enemies. They all formed a rough circle around her, their swords waving in a mesmerizing pattern as they all crept closer. Arya lifted up her sword and took a defensive stance, preparing to do battle.

"HYAH!"

As one, about half a dozen yakuza members leapt forward as Arya batted their swords away, spinning to slash through the abdomens of several unwary swordsmen as she ducked under one blow, flicked her sword out in that same deadly arc, and hacked open three more unfortunate souls. This was a bloodbath with no mercy, no rules, and no consideration given for either side as Arya slashed, hacked, and chopped, gutting, eviscerating, and cutting throats and the yakuzas fell like bloodied leaves around her. Blocking the overhand chop of one man, she darted her free hand towards his face and snatched out his eyeball, cutting him down as he let out a wail of pain.

Lutz suddenly leapt into the gap, jabbing his sheathed sword at Arya as she blocked the rapid, twisting blows, the German using his wooden sheath like a staff or cane. As she blocked his second overhand, he quickly unsheathed his sword and lashed out horizontally, nearly cutting open her stomach as she jumped away, then grunted as the German kicked her backwards into the circle of swordsmen. She blocked two blows from her place on the floor, sweeping her sword out and severing one man's arm before wrapping her legs around a charging yakuza's neck and twisting, breaking his neck at the same time she stabbed another man through the navel. Spinning herself to her feet as both bodies were sent skidding across the floor, she stabbed a fallen man through the chest and whirled, just in time to catch a flying hand-ax. The man who had thrown it, not learning his lesson, sent another whirling through the air as Arya ducked aside, letting it sink deep into one of his ally's chests, throwing the other back at its owner as he was sent flying backwards, spurting blood.

The yakuzas fled before Arya like mice before a cat, smashing through delicate scrollwork and walls in their desperation to get onto better ground. She kicked one man into the eager sword of his brethren, slashing open a woman's stomach before stabbing behind herself and impaling another yakuza with a sword. She yanked it out, cutting and slashing murderously as she slaughtered the Crazy 88's fighters, decapitating, severing limbs, splitting torsos, and hacking at every available opening she got. She ducked under Lutz's sudden re-engagement, blocking the rapid blows from the two short swords he carried in each hand before he kicked her backwards again, sending her towards the bar. Arya grimly blocked each and every lightning-fast blow from the surprisingly nimble German, finally breaking away and running towards a nearby support beam, leaping atop a sword embedded in it from an earlier foe and jumping up to grab the second-floor railing. The yakuzas gasped, then belatedly rushed upstairs, giving Arya time to haul herself over the brink before she was again greeted by stabbing, flickering swords.

Lutz jumped up to join her, slashing and stabbing madly with his dual swords as Arya blocked, dodged, and vainly sliced back, seeking desperately for an opening. She cut and ran again, using a bamboo pole to lower herself back to the ground level as she stabbed and sliced through the yakuzas waiting for her. She smirked and let go of the stick, which snapped back upright just in time to smack an advancing Lutz in the head, sending him reeling backward through one of the private booths' paper walls. Arya cartwheeled back towards the center of the dance floor, slicing and dicing the yakuzas who met her there as she briefly glanced up, seeing Kuro walk stately back into the private booth and close the door behind him.

She quickly jumped over a yakuza with a sword, undercutting to send him flying into a tangled group of the sword-bearing thugs as she slashed and stabbed her way towards the stairs to the second floor. She was once again met by Lutz, who had dropped his dual swords for favor of the longer one, and was quickly beaten backwards by the larger, stronger swordsman. She blocked his downswing and then quickly flicked her sword backwards, gutting a man advancing on her from behind as she whipped the katana around again, just in time to block a bewildering series of lightning-fast slashes and jabs. She ducked, letting his sword cut deeply and stick into the wooden support beam as she lashed out, stabbing him through the middle as he let out a grunt of pain.

Arya quickly looked all around her as Lutz groaned in pain, incredibly still trying to force his sword out of the wooden beam as the other Crazy 88 members began to cautiously approach. Arya quickly grabbed the German by the wrist he held his sword with and forced him into the ring of yakuzas, using the bulky German as a meat shield and keeping him with her via the sword still embedded in his gut. It was an unfeasible situation, and in a mimicry of his earlier attack, she kicked the enforcer backwards, retaining both his sword and her own as she resumed cutting up her opponents, cutting off legs, arms, hands, feet. She broke out of the circle, running up the balcony of the stairs as the yakuzas, perhaps suicidally, chased after her. She jumped off the railing, cutting down the thug that ran to meet her and sending his body rolling down the stairs.

Arya held her sword out horizontally as the group of about a dozen yakuzas slowly approached, backing into a private room as they cautiously followed. Several of the gang members used their swords to rip through the thin paper walls and enter from different sides, quickly forming a semicircle around the Caucasian. Suddenly Toris –forgotten by almost everyone and everything– hit the light switch for the main grid, sending Arya and her would-be opponents into almost entire darkness. For a few moments, only the sounds of the injured and dying out on the dance floor were heard, but it was soon replaced by the war cries and grunts of agony from the Crazy 88 in the room with Arya as their swords flashed and clanged together, several dying shouts ringing out before relative silence –and the sound of gushing blood– fell again.

Another brief spat of activity. Several more dead.

And again.

And again.

Soon it was only Arya and one other member, who trembled as he slowly backed away. His frightened panting echoed in the small room, and his sword shook. Arya swept forward, about to bring her sword down, but then Toris turned on the lights again, and she paused her attack. A fresh-faced Japanese boy who could not have been out of his teens stood shaking in his boots before her, and she drew her sword away in disgust. With four slow, deliberate chops, she cut his sword down until there was only the handle and a few inches of steel left, which he quickly dropped with a whimper, holding his hands up in surrender as the swordswoman shook her head at him. Angrily, Arya grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt, bent him over, and began to spank him with the flat of her blade.

"THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR FUCKING AROUND WITH YAKUZAS!" she roared, smacking his backside for every word as he let out terrified yelps of pain. She let go of his collar and practically shoved him out the door, snarling "Go home to your mother!" as he ran down the stairs, sobbing in fear and pain. Suddenly sensing something quite a bit more formidable than the sniveling teen, she whirled, but wasn't quick enough to stop the blow as Lutz slammed his foot into her diaphragm, sending her flying through the paper walls and nearly off the second floor as she grabbed the stair's railing in the nick of time.

She managed to get her arms over the brink, but then he was on her again, flicking his sword in and out of her defense as he left tiny, stinging wounds all over her arms and face. Arya managed to beat him off to the extent of allowing her to leap up to the banister, and they continued dueling busily on what had to be less than a foot of support. The railing shook under their feet as both broke off momentarily, staring each other down as they waited for the wobbling to cease. Lutz grinned ominously at the female, who merely narrowed her eyes in return. He lunged forward again, batting almost teasingly at her defense as she hissed in frustration, trying to beat off the unfairly fast German as he whirled and slashed with every ounce of power in his muscle-bound body.

Arya saw an opportunity and dropped into a kneeling position, her katana sweeping forward to slice of Lutz's leg at the knee as he screamed in pain and fell backwards, into the blood-stained decorative pools that guarded either side of the stage, now long empty. Arya stood on the railing, breathing heavily as she surveyed the bloody carnage of the restaurant. Black-suited yakuzas were scattered across the floor like dying penguins, pools and spatters of blood marking every available surface. She flicked her sword once, ridding it of most of the blood. " _Those of you lucky enough to still have your lives,_ " she began in merciless Japanese. " _-take them with you! However, leave the limbs you've lost. They belong to me now._ " she hissed, aiming her sword at the few scattered survivors as they staggered out the door, moaning and weeping in pain. Her brown eyes flashed.

"Except you, Natalia!" she suddenly added in English, pointing to the Belarusian as she whipped her head up in petrified fear. "You stay right where you are." Arya turned and lightly leapt off the railing as Toris staggered out from the back of the restaurant, shrieking in his native language as he beheld the carnage and ruin of his beloved restaurant. But Natalia didn't move, even though now would have been the perfect time to do so.

She did not dare to.

Line Break

Arya flung the doors open to a climate-controlled "garden", with fake snow and shrubbery littering the tiny grounds. She slowly walked forward, looking all about her in case of attack. Tiny flakes of fake snow fell steadily from the ceiling, and a small bamboo fountain clunked in a steady, soothing rhythm. "Your instrument is quite impressive." Kuro suddenly said from across the garden, and Arya paused. Slowly, they began to approach each other as Kuro asked " _Where was it made?_ " in flawless Japanese. Arya smiled blandly. "Okinawa." Kuro raised an elegant black eyebrow. " _Whom in Okinawa made you this steel?_ " he asked nonchalantly, and Arya let a tiny smirk play about her lips. "This is Arthur Kirkland steel."

" _You lie!_ " Kuro hissed, his crimson eyes widening in anger as he came to a dead halt. Arya shook her head slightly and turned the flat of the blade to show the Japanese man the sigil engraved near the hilt. Kuro looked at it for a long moment, then glanced up at Arya. He chuckled slightly, smirking briefly before continuing to walk around a large stone fountain that was between him and the Caucasian. " _Swords however, never get tired. I hope you've saved your energy._ " he murmured, then suddenly swung to face her, his eyes deadly serious. " _If you haven't…you might not last five minutes._ " He the smiled slightly and swept an arm out, showcasing the false garden. " _But as last looks go, you could do worse._ "

Deliberately slowly, he stepped out of the comfortable sandals he had on his feet and moved forward before kneeling, showing his respect to Arya before taking out his sword and partially unsheathing it. Arya sank down into a defensive position as Kuro fully unsheathed his sword, staring her straight in the eye. Arya lunged forward as Kuro gracefully deflected her blow, using both his katana and sheath as offensive weapons. They both backed away for a brief moment, reassessing the situation and testing their opponent with deadly eyes, then moved together again, twisting, hacking, and stabbing as the false snow crunched under their feet. Arya soon cut off part of the sheath, to which Kuro merely smirked and discarded the shortened length of lacquered wood. He then took his sword in both hands, lifting it in readiness for Arya's attack, his face and stance completely controlled.

Arya cautiously edged forward, mimicking his grip as they almost delicately locked their swords together, each soon straining to overpower the other. Arya quickly grew impatient and lashed her sword out, slashing in neat, controlled bursts as Kuro ducked and dodged, swaying out of her attack zone and sliding into her blind spot as he viciously cut at her exposed back. Arya shrieked, backing away briefly with a deep crimson slash in her back oozing blood. She weakly held her sword out as she stumbled away, then collapsed backward and fell on her back in the cold snow.

Kuro chuckled slightly, baring his teeth. "Silly Caucasian girl likes to play with samurai swords." he sneered condescendingly as Arya gasped raggedly on her back. "You may not be able to fight like a samurai, but you can at least die like a samurai." he whispered, changing the grip on his sword. Arya gasped a few more time, slowly sitting up and stabbing her sword into the ground, forcing herself upright as a cold fire burned in her honey-brown eyes. " _Attack me, with everything you have._ " She hissed, and Kuro's eyes flashed as he lunged forward to obey.

Their swords flashed and clicked against each other as they spun, whirled, ducked, slashed, and Arya slid down to her knees as she dealt out a wicked counterblow, and Kuro stumbled, keeping his blade between him and the blonde as he limped backwards, the tendon in his heel severed completely. Both combatants breathed heavily, assessing their opponent with new eyes as their limbs trembled with weakness. Kuro looked down at the slash in his kimono, bloodied and torn, and back up at Arya, who watched him with vengeful eyes. " _For ridiculing you earlier, I apologize._ " Kuro whispered faintly, and Arya nodded slightly. " _Accepted._ " she breathed through trembling lips. " _Ready?_ "

" _Come on._ "

Silent as the falling snow, both warriors ran towards each other as their blades rang and crashed together, beating out an irregular tempo as they came body-to-body, swords locked, and Arya shoved Kuro away. He staggered to the side, behind a group of artistically arranged trellises, and they ran alongside each other, swords eager for blood. As they reached the end, Kuro swung first, Arya second. A picture-perfect line of blood was flicked onto the snow as Arya whirled to a stop, her back to her enemy, and Kuro's sword slid from his grasp as he slowly collapsed to his knees. " _That really was a Arthur Kirkland sword._ " he murmured in wonder, then slowly closed his crimson-red eyes and fell, as silent as the driving snow. Arya stood there for a few moments, literally shaking with exhaustion, before she turned around to look at the corpse of her former comrade.

Kuro Honda

(Cottonmouth)

 _Crossed out._

* * *

Cast:

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

O-ren Ishii: 2p Japan

Gogo Yubari (O-ren's bodyguard): Wang Zao/2p China

Johnny Mo (O-ren's main enforcer): Lutz Beilschmidt/2p Germany

Sophie Fatale (O-ren's lawyer and best friend): Natalia Baginsky/Belarus

House of Blue Leaves owners: Feliks not-even-gonna-try-the-last-name/Poland and Toris same-thing-here/Lithuania

* * *

 ** _I told you I would run out of Asians. After a point, I just sorta improvised. My friend actually criticized me for running out, but I'm not familiar enough with any of the other 2ps or 1p nations to even attempt putting them in here._**

 _*For those who wonder, a meteor hammer is basically like a swing-able mace, which was a medieval club with a giant spiked ball on top, used to crush armor. A meteor hammer is a long chain with a heavy ball at the end, which may or may not have sharp things on it. You (supposedly) are supposed to swing it around your body for momentum, then release it to make it go flying in whatever direction you please, making it difficult to master and equally difficult to defend against. Gogo/Zao is actually using it the correct way, believe it or not. If you wish for a better explanation of how it works, not to mention watch a lovely fight scene, search "Gogo vrs The Bride" on Youtube, or find the movie on Netflix. It is there, or at least it was when I was writing this._


	6. Chapter 5: Blue Leaves (Continued)

**_Chapter Five: Showdown at the House of Blue Leaves (Continued)_**

* * *

 _A sleek black car pulled up to a hill near a Japanese hospital, and a certain blonde figure got out, pulling the body of another woman from the trunk of the car and shoving her down the hill in a long, sprawling roll._

* * *

"Natalia…Natalia…my Natalia…I'm so sorry." A soft, masculine voice whispered as warm hands laid themselves on the Belarusian's shoulders, his British accent at odds with the very Japanese hospital room. Natalia's indigo eyes were already watering with fear, shame, and most importantly, pain. "Please. Please forgive my betrayal." she whimpered, and the man softly brushed some of her ash-blonde hair behind her ear. "No more of that." he scolded gently, and she sniffled. "But still…" she began, but he interrupted her, still gently stroking her cheek. " _But still_ nothing…except my aching heart over what she's done to my beautiful and brilliant Natalia."

* * *

" _I've kept you alive for two reasons. The first reason is information."_

" _Burn in Hell you stupid, stupid blonde! I'll tell you nothing!" Natalia hissed in Belarusian, her one remaining arm hidden under her huddled body._

" _But I am gonna ask you questions." Arya hissed in soft English, continuing as if she had not been interrupted. "And every time you don't give me answers, I'm gonna cut something off. And I promise you,_ _ **they will be things you will miss**_ _!"_

* * *

" _Give me your other arm!"_

" _Ahh! God! No!"_

* * *

" _I want all the information on the Deadly Vipers."_

"If you had to guess…"

" _-what they've been doing-"_

"…why she left you alive…"

" _-and where I can find them."_

"…what would be your guess?"

Natalia swallowed nauseously, close to tears. "G-guessing won't be necessary. She informed me. She –she said I could keep my life for two reasons."

" _As I've said before, I've allowed you to keep your wicked life for two reasons. And the second reason is so you can tell him, in person, everything that happened here tonight. I want him to witness the extent of my mercy by witnessing your deformed body. I want you to tell him all the information you just told me. I want him to know what I know. I want him to know I want him to know. And I want them all to know they'll all soon be as dead as Kuro Honda."'_

Oliver paused stroking his protégé's hair. "One more thing, Natalia." He rested both hands on her shoulders and leaned forward. "Is she aware her daughter is still alive?"

* * *

On her plane ride back to the United States, Arya began drawing out a list on her notebook with black and red marker.

 _Kuro Honda  
(Cottonmouth)_

 _Luciano Vargas  
(Copperhead)_

 _Francois Bonnerfoy  
(Sidewinder)_

 _Allen F. Jones  
(California Mountain Snake)_

 _OLIVER  
(Snake Charmer)_

Revenge is never a straight line. It's a forest. And like a forest it's easy to lose your way, to get lost, to forget where you came in.

* * *

Cast:

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Bill: Oliver Kirkland/2p England

Sophie Fatale (O-ren's lawyer): Natalia Braginsky/Belarus

* * *

 ** _Welp, that's Volume 1. Volume 2 will be coming out sometime...not soon...but...eventually?_**


	7. Chapter 6: Massacre At Two Pines

_**Chapter Six: Massacre at Two Pines**_

* * *

 _Rapid, shallow, gasping breathes._

" _ **Do you find me sadistic?**_ _"_

 _Everything hurt. Everything hurt so bad._

" _ **You know, poppet, I'd like to believe you're aware enough, even know, to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions. At this moment…this is me…at my most masochistic.**_ _"_

" _Oliver…it's your ba-"_

 _ **BLAM!**_

* * *

 _Looked dead, didn't I? Well, I wasn't. But it wasn't from lack of trying, I can tell you that._

 _Actually, Oliver's last bullet put me in a coma –a coma I was to lie in for four years. When I woke up, I went on what the movie advertisements would refer to as "a roaring rampage of revenge"._

 _I roared, and I rampaged, and I got bloody satisfaction._

 _I've killed a hell of a lot of people to get to this point, but I have only one more. The last one. The one I'm driving to right now. The only one left._

 _And when I arrive at my destination, I am gonna_ _ **kill Oliver**_ _._

* * *

 _Now, the incident that happened at the Two Pines Wedding Chapel that put this whole gory story into motion has since become legend. "Massacre at Two Pines". That's what the newspapers called it. The local TV news called it "The El Paso, Texas, wedding chapel massacre". How it happened, who was there, how many got killed, and who killed them, changes depending on who's telling the story. In actual fact, the massacre didn't happen during a wedding at all._

 _It was a wedding rehearsal._

"Now, when we come to the part where I say "You may kiss the bride", you may kiss the bride. But don't stick your tongue in her mouth." the reverend lectured, and the women behind the two officiates of the marriage giggled as the good pastor rolled his eyes. "This might be funny to your friends, but it would be embarrassing to your parents." he continued, and the girlfriends giggled again as the groom nodded solemnly, golden cowlick bobbing in the air, and the bride smirked. "We'll try to restrain ourselves, reverend." she promised, making the women behind her giggle even more. The groom shot her an amused glance from behind blue-rimmed glasses that he had patriotically named "Texas".

"Ya'll got a song yet?" the black man at the piano interrupted from across the room, cigarette smoke wafting from the coffin nail he had in one hand. The bride and the groom looked at each other, both shrugging before looking at the pianist and shaking their heads. He didn't move as he suggested "How 'bout _Love Me Tender_? I can play that."

"Sure."

"Yeah."

" _Love Me Tender_ 'd be great." the groom announced after the couple's swift murmuring. "Rufus, he's the man." the reverend chuckled as the pianist blew out a cloud of noxious fumes. "Rufus, who was that you used to play for?" he asked, and the black man looked up absently. "Rufus Thomas." he yawned, and the reverend nodded. "Rufus Thomas. Rufus Thomas." he said proudly, gesturing to the wedding party, but then Rufus spoke up again. "I was a Drell. I was a Drifter. I was a Coaster. I was part of the Gang. I was a Bar-kay. If they come through Texas, I played with 'em." he boasted, making subtle movements with his cigarette to drive home the point. The reverend smiled and waved a hand towards the pianist. "Rufus –he's the man." he repeated proudly as the elderly woman beside him nodded, and he glanced at her worriedly. "Have I forgotten anything?" he asked, and she "hmmed" in thought. "Um…oh, yes. You forgot uh, the seating arrangements." she whispered back, and he nodded gratefully. "Thank you, mother." he murmured, then straightened up.

"Now the way we normally do this, we have the bride's side, and then we have the groom's side." he explained, making a box shape with both hands. "But since the bride ain't got nobody comin', and the groom's got far too many people comin'-" He was interrupted by one of the female friends leaning forward in her seat. "Well, yeah, they're comin' from every single state in the US ." she teased, to general laughter. The reverend smiled gently. "Right…well, I don't see no problem with the groom's side sharing the bride's side. Do you, mother?" he asked, and she shook her head. "No, I don't have a problem with that. But, uh…honey, you know, it would be good if you had somebody come." she asked the bride gently. "You know, as a sign of good faith?"

The blonde shifted her honey-brown eyes slightly, but smiled readily enough. "Well, I don't have anybody, except for Alfred and my friends." She nodded towards the groom and the women behind her. The reverend's mother looked surprised. "You have no family?" she asked, and the blonde smiled slightly. "Well, I'm working on changing that." Another one of the female friends spoke up again. "Mrs. Harmony, we're all the family this little angel's ever gonna need." she said staunchly, and the blonde smiled, then leaned backward over the pew as all her friends leaned forward. "I'm not feeling very well, and this bitch is starting to piss me off." she whispered as they all smirked or tittered. "So while y'all blather on, I'm gonna go outside and get some air." she confided, then rose with a murmur of "Um, uh…sorry reverend, sorry…" The female friends behind her closed ranks like veteran soldiers in a battalion.

"She's gonna go out and get some air."

"Yeah. Given her _delicate condition_."

"She just needs a few minutes to get it together. She'll be okay."

As the blonde walked slowly up the aisle, she paused as she heard the sound of a flute. A multitude of micro-expressions crossed her face, worry and fear chief among them, and she looked over her shoulder at her friends and soon-to-be family before she clutched her bridal veil to her chest and slowly exited the church. As she walked onto the patio, looking around herself, she finally leaned against one of the posts and stared out at the hot Texan plain for a few moments. She then turned and looked at the strawberry blonde man sitting on the porch, softly blowing into a wooden flute. Her nervous expression slowly formed into a smile, before he finished his song and looked up, ice-blue eyes opening and meeting hers.

"Hello, poppet." he greeted in a soft, extremely British voice, and she smiled absently and continued playing with her veil. "How did you find me?" she asked quietly, and he inclined his head. "I'm the man." he said simply, and she moved away from the post, a look of perplexion crossing her features. "What are you doin' here?" she asked, and he raised an eyebrow. "What am I doing?" he repeated, looking down at the wooden instrument in his hands before setting it aside. "Well, a moment ago I was playing my flute. At this moment…" he continued, standing to walk towards her. "I'm looking at the most beautiful bride these old eyes have ever seen." he finished, leaning against the opposite pole to smile at her with the aforementioned eyes glowing blue.

Her expression, half-fear and half-wariness, didn't change. "Why are you here?" she whispered, and he smiled briefly. "Last look." he chuckled, and the fear –however briefly– left her expression. "Are you gonna be nice?" she half-joked, half-sincerely asked, and he shrugged candidly. "I've never been nice in my whole life. But I'll always do my best to be sweet." he said with a charming grin, and she smiled briefly. "Hmm. I always told you, your nice side is your best side." she teased, taking a few steps towards him, and he matched her pace for pace. "I guess that's why you're the only one who's ever seen it." he agreed, and his eyes dropped to her stomach. "I see you've got a bun in the oven." he commented, his face unreadable, and she smiled with maternal pride. "Mm, I'm knocked up." she admitted, taking another step towards him. "Sweet sugar. That young man of yours sure doesn't believe in wasting time, does he?" he asked slowly, stepping towards her again. There was perhaps the faintest hint of bitterness in his tone, but that could easily have been mistaken for disapproval.

"Have you seen Alfred?" Arya asked as they came face to face. The British man raised an eyebrow. "The tall man in the tux?" he asked, and she nodded, blushing slightly. "Yes." she admitted, and he nodded just barely. "Then I saw him. I like his hair." he muttered, sarcasm just barely managing to underline the words, and the bride frowned playfully. "You promised you'd be nice." she scolded, and he smirked. "No, I said I'd do my best. That's hardly a promise." he pointed out smugly, then sighed. "But you're right. What does your –young man– do for a living?" he asked, obviously straining for politeness, and Arya looked down at her feet. "He owns a used-record store here in El Paso."

"Ah. Music lover, hmm?"

"He's fond of music."

"Aren't we all?"

Arya looked up and met his eyes as he finally asked "And what are you doing for a j-o-b these days?" His voice was purposeful, but not interrogating, and she lifted her chin as she answered. "I work in the record store." she said with a smile, and he nodded. "Ah, so…it all suddenly seems so clear." he murmured in a world-weary tone, smirking at her slightly. "And do you like it?" he asked pointedly, and she smirked. "Yeah, I like it a lot. I get to listen to music all day, talk about music all day; it's really cool." Her proud expression faltered a little. "Its gonna be a great environment for my little girl to grow up in." she whispered, and the Brit leaned forward. "As opposed to jetting around the world, killing human beings and being paid vast sums of money?" he questioned tersely, and she mimicked his tone and posture. "Precisely."

He sighed and smiled a little. "Well, my old friend, to each his own. However, all tomfoolery aside, I am looking forward to meeting your young man. I happen to be, more or less, particular whom my poppet marries." he said with a slight gleam in his eyes, and Arya stared at him for several seconds. "You want to come to the wedding?" she asked incredulously, and he chuckled. "Only if I can sit on the bride's side." he purred conspiratorially, and she smiled sadly. "You'll find it a bit lonely on my side." she murmured, and he shrugged, still smiling. "Your side always was a bit lonely. But I wouldn't sit anywhere else." he confided, leaving Arya temporarily speechless. "You know," he continued. "I had the loveliest dream about you…" Arya's eyes suddenly flicked over his shoulder, and she interrupted him with false cheer. "Oh, here's Alfred!" she called, then added in an undertone "Call me Arlene."

They both walked into the church, and the British man gladly shook hands with the groom. "You must be Alfred!" he said happily, as the groom nodded. "Uh-huh." he confirmed, and the Brit's smile widened, still not letting go of his hand. "Arlene's told me so much about you." Arya approached them as the Brit and Alfred let go, the groom looking at her in concern. "Honey, you okay?" he asked, and she smiled brightly. "Oh, I'm fine. Alfred, I'd like you to meet my father." she said, adding that last bit with a sly smirk of humor. The Brit laughed awkwardly, giving her a peeved look out of the corner of his eye as she smirked mischievously at him. "Oh, my God!" Alfred exclaimed happily as they shook hands again. "Oh my God, this is great! I am so glad to meet you, sir…oh, dad." He corrected himself, and the Brit gave a strained smile. "The name's Oliver."

Alfred smiled blissfully. He was a tall man with bright blue eyes, the aforementioned cowlick that Oliver had mocked, and a sunny demeanor. "Well, it's great to meet you…Oliver." He glanced at the woman beside them. "Arlene told me you couldn't make it." he added with slight confusion, and Oliver clicked his tongue. "Surprise." he stated with a slightly awkward smile, and "Arlene" made an exasperated motion with her hands. "That's my pop for ya. Always full of surprises." she grinned, looking at him, and he smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. "Well, in the surprise department, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." he said around his bright smile, and Alfred nodded pleasantly, oblivious to the slight tenseness between his soon-to-be wife and her supposed father. "When did you get in?" he asked, and Oliver beamed. "Just now."

Alfred beamed eagerly. "Did you come straight from Australia?" he asked, and Oliver answered "Of course." quickly, although there was a spark of confusion in his eyes. Arya solved the problem for him. "Daddy, I told Alfred that you were in Perth mining for silver and no one could reach you." she explained subtly, and he laughed and adjusted the hand on her shoulder. "Lucky for us all, that's not the case." he chuckled, and looked around the church. "So…what's this all about? I've heard of wedding rehearsals, but I don't believe I've ever heard of a wedding dress rehearsal before." he asked, gesturing to the groom's tux and Arya's dress. Alfred chuckled. "We thought, why pay so much money for a dress you're only gonna wear once, 'specially when Arlene looks so goddamn beautiful in it? So I think we're gonna try to get all the mileage we can out of it." he teased, unaware of the subtle change in mood that came over Oliver at his words. The Brit casually took Arya's hand, but addressed the groom. "Isn't it supposed to be bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony?" he asked calmly, inspecting her engagement ring.

"Well, I guess I just believe in living dangerously." Alfred said with a conspiratorial wink, making Arya glance uneasily between the two men as Oliver gave a secret little smile. "I know just what you mean." he chuckled, and the reverend called from the altar. "Son, some of us have places to be." The subtle reminder was made not-so-subtle by Rufus's "Sure do" from the piano's pulpit. Alfred glanced behind himself and jabbed his thumb at the assembly. "Look, we gotta go through this one more time, so why don't you have a s-" he began to Oliver, then snapped his fingers. "Oh my God. What am I thinking, you should give her away!" he said excitedly, and Arya's flash of alarm could not be quite hidden this time. "Alfred, that's not exactly daddy's cup of tea." she warned, cutting around Oliver to face her betrothed. "I think father would be much more comfortable sitting with the rest of the guests." she said with barely-covered cheer, and Alfred nodded uncertainly. "Hmm, really?" he asked the Brit, and Oliver looked flatly at them both. "That's asking a lot." he said quietly, and Alfred looked slightly deflated. "Oh. Okay, well, forget it." he said, quickly regaining his usual cheer. "But how about we go out to dinner tonight to celebrate?"

"Only on the condition that I pay for everything." Oliver said with a charming smirk, and Alfred grinned. "Deal. We got to do this now." he said apologetically, motioning towards the altar again, and Oliver rocked on the balls of his feet slowly. "Can I watch?" he asked slowly, and Alfred nodded. "Absolutely, have a seat." he said gladly, and Oliver bit his lip, looking from one set of pews to another. "Which is the bride's side?" he asked, and Alfred motioned towards the left side of the church. "Right over here." he said proudly, and Oliver smiled and took a seat. Alfred giddily grabbed Arya by the hand and walked up to the front, and the reverend called to the back of the church. "Mother, here we go!" Addressing the couple in front of him, he missed Oliver casually leaning against the pew he was supposed to be sitting at. "Now, son, about them vows…" he started, distracting Alfred as Arya slipped out of his grasp and quickly approached the reclining Brit as soft piano music filled the air.

"Oliver, I just want…" she began breathlessly, but he interrupted her. "You don't owe me a thing." he said softly. "If he's the man you want, then go stand by him." Arya smiled at him with tears in her eyes, and he did not move a muscle as she leaned forward and gently, but swiftly, kissed him on the lips. She pressed her hand against his cheek, then smiled and fastened on her veil, tugging it into its proper place as Oliver blinked at her, unmoving. "Do I look pretty?" she asked tearfully, and he smiled just barely. "Oh yes." he murmured, and she kissed him again, pressing her forehead against his. "Thank you." she whispered after they ended the kiss, and they both knew she wasn't thanking him about showing up. She walked away; joining the others near the altar, as Oliver remained, statue-like, standing against the pew. He tapped his fingers subtly against the woodwork, glancing behind himself every few moments. He was waiting for something, and he smiled subtly as he saw it.

Four people approaching the little chapel's entrance.

An Italian man with a cap on his brunette hair and a knife twirling between his fingers.

An unshaven Frenchman with a glowing cigarette between his lips.

A Japanese man with red eyes and an icily correct posture.

And finally, a grinning brunette with a black eyepatch and one lone, blood-red eye.

They all pulled out semiautomatic machine guns and walked into the church.

The reverend's speech was interrupted as he stared at the newcomers. "What the hell?!" he gasped, and Arya whipped around, her honey-brown eyes widening.

" _ **NO! OLIVER!"**_

From the pew he was leaning against, Oliver gave her a grinning Cheshire smile.

And after that, there was only the sounds of machine-gun fire.

* * *

"You're tellin' me she cut 'er way zrough 88 bodyguards before she got to Kuro?" the Frenchman asked, cigarette smoke wafting out from his lips. Oliver smiled briefly. "No, there wasn't really 88 of them. They just called themselves "The Crazy 88." he explained, and the blonde sitting on the steps to the RV raised an eyebrow. " 'Ow come?" he asked, stubbing out his most recent cigarette and lighting another as Oliver shrugged. "I don't know. I guess they thought it sounded interesting. Anyhow, they all fell under her Kirkland sword." he added, and the Frenchman looked up. "She got a Kirkland sword?"

"He made one for her."

The Frenchman frowned. "Didn't 'e swear a blood oath to never make another sword?" he asked skeptically, and Oliver pursed his lips. "It would appear he has broken it." he admitted tersely, and the Frenchman shifted his cigarette to the corner of his mouth, took a swig from the glass bottle at his side, and set it down again. " 'E sure knows 'ow to 'old a grudge, doesn't 'e?" He barked out a ragged laugh as he took another swig. "Or maybe you just tend to bring zat out in people." Oliver's smile twitched slightly before he spoke again. "I know this is a ridiculous question before I ask it, but you haven't, by any chance, kept up with your swordplay?" he asked wearily, and Francois snorted as he gulped down another liter of the noxious substance. "I pawned zat years ago."

Oliver closed his eyes briefly. "You hocked an Arthur Kirkland sword?"

" _Oui._ "

Oliver drew in a deep breath, placing his hands against the bridge of his nose in a praying position. "It was priceless." he muttered in a strained voice, and Francois barked out another laugh. "Well, not in El Paso. I got 250 American dollars for eet." he sneered, then snorted and took to waving his bottle around. "I'm a bouncer in a bar, Oliver. If she wants to fight wiz me, all she's got to do is come down to ze club and start some shit, and we'll be in a fight." he explained tipsily, and Oliver sighed and leaned forward, supporting himself against the wall of the RV with one hand. "I know we haven't spoken in some time, and the last time we spoke wasn't the most pleasant, but you've got to get over being mad at me, and start becoming afraid of Aryana. Because she is coming, and she's coming to kill you. And unless you accept my assistance, I have no _doubt_ she will succeed."

Francois stared at him for a few moments, his cigarette dangling between his fingers and his bottle securely wrapped in his other hand. Despite his greasy, unwashed hair, his unshaven appearance, and the posture of complete and utter delinquency, he exuded a sort of nobility as he spoke. "I don't dodge guilt, and I don't jew out of paying my comeuppance." he uttered quietly, but fiercely, and Oliver sighed in frustration, hanging his head. "Can't we just forget the past?" he murmured impatiently, and Francois blinked at him sternly. "Zat woman deserves her revenge." he muttered firmly. "And we deserve to die. But zen again, so does she. So, I guess we'll just see, won't we?" he asked quietly, and Oliver sighed, shaking his head, before turning away and walking to his car.

* * *

Cast:

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Bill: Oliver Kirkland/2p England

Groom: Alfred F. Jones/America

O-ren Ishii (Cottonmouth): Kuro Honda/2p Japan

Vernita Green (knife woman): Luciano Vargas/2p Italy

Budd (Bill's brother): Francois Bonnerfoy/2p France

Elle Driver (woman with eyepatch): Allen F. Jones/2p America

* * *

 ** _Hey, I'm back, and now we're on Volume 2 of the Kill Bill series. Exciting, no? I certainly think so, but then again, since NO ONE HAS REVEIWED, I can't be sure. I'm desperate enough that at this point I will start offering commissions for reviews. Yeah, commissions. So for the love of God, someone say something, and I'll write you a nice little one-shot of whatever the hell you want. (Hetalia-wise, since I'm lazy and don't want to get out of this fandom.)_**

 ** _Please. Someone. Say something. Anything. I'll even take flames at this point, I need the warmth._**


	8. Chpt 7: The Lonely Grave of Paula Schulz

_**Chapter Seven: The Lonely Grave of Paula Schulz**_

* * *

 _3_ _rd_ _Person POV_

A battered grey pickup truck pulled into the parking lot, chugging and rattling. There were perhaps maybe four or five other vehicles in the entire paved-over space, a mute testimony as to the popularity (or lack thereof) of this particular bar. A man got out from the pickup, grungy, smoking, and possessing of a smoker's cough. He was dressed in a dirty purple button-down shirt, slacks that probably hadn't been washed in days, and several packs of cigarettes peeping out from various pockets on both items of apparel. He entered the bar –almost completely empty– and crossed it, blowing out a stream of cigarette smoke as he looked at the man behind the bar. "Late again." the proprietor commented as Francois nudged an ashtray aside. "Bud, can't you tell time?" Francois scanned his dull purple eyes over the obviously empty bar. "Zere is no one in here." he pointed out raspily. A masculine voice called from deeper inside the premises. _"Is that Francois?"_ The bartender glanced at the Frenchman, busily rolling his next cigarette. "Yeah."

" _Tell him to get his fucking ass back here!"_

The bartender raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the other man. "Okay. Francois, Larry'd like a word with ya." The Frenchman nodded dully and ambled back to the bar, where Larry and a woman of obviously negotiable virtue were taking sniffs of cocaine. "Take a hit. Be somebody, baby." Larry was saying as Francois entered, and he leaned drearily against the door. "You lookin' for me?" he asked flatly, and Larry stared at him for a few moments. "I don't know what car wash you worked before you came here that let you stroll in 20 minutes late, but it wasn't owned by me and I own a fucking car wash." he began angrily, and the woman flirted with her hair, ignoring Francois. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked, and Larry shook his head. "No, I don't want you to leave. I want you to sit and wait." he snapped at her, and Francois blinked once. "Larry, zere isn't anybody out zere, so…" he explained with a shrug, and Larry glared at him.

"There's nobody out there, Larry." Larry repeated, slurring the words slightly as the cocaine hit him. "What's your point? That you're not needed here?" he bit off, and Francois lit up his next cigarette from the ashes of his first. "My point is I'm ze bouncer, and zere is no one out zere to bounce." Larry snorted hazily. "You saying that the reason that you're not doing the job that I'm paying you to do is that you don't have a job to do?" he asked, and Francois shifted slightly. "No…" he mumbled, but Larry wouldn't take no for an answer. "Is that what you're saying? What are you trying to convince me of, exactly?" he asked. "That you're a useless asshole? Well guess what, buddy? I think you just fucking convinced me."

Francois remained silent.

Larry sat up, rummaging around his cluttered desk. "Let's go to the calendar. Its calendar time. Calendar time for Francois." He uncapped the pen he found and turned to the calendar on the wall. "Okay. You working tomorrow?" he asked, and Francois shrugged and nodded. "Yeah." Larry sent him a snarky look. "No, you're not, you don't even know what fucking day you work. Here." He busily on the crossed out a number on the calendar. "You're not working tomorrow, you're working Wednesday, here you are. There you go. Workin' Thursday?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think so. Friday?"

"I don't-"

"Look, there's your name. There used to be your name. Okay?" Larry busily crossed out Francois's name on all the mentioned dates. "Saturday. There used to be your name. Uh, Monday, here, how about that?" He crossed out the entire calendar and threw the pen on the desk. "Fucking with your cash is the only thing you Frenchies seem to understand, okay? Now, I want you to go home till I call you. Till _I_ call _you_. Before you leave, talk to Rocket. She's got a job for you to do." Francois sighed and exited the room, playing around with his stainless steel lighter as he did so. A scantily clad woman in a lingerie approached him as he looked to the side, and she affixed a pout to her face. "Yeah, Francois, honey, the toilet is at it again." When he did not immediately respond, her expression flattened. "There's shitty water all over the floor." Francois heaved a drawn-out sigh, putting his lighter back down. "Okay, Rocket. I'll clean eet up."

 _***Time Skip***_

As Francois's beat-up truck parked by the RV in the middle of the desert, he paused for a moment, getting out, and flicked his cigarette lighter on, igniting the cancer stick in his mouth and looking at the bluffs surrounding him. Perhaps he was looking for the woman his brother had warned him about. Perhaps he was just admiring the scenery. He then groaned and walked back to his RV, opening and closing the door behind him as the lights turned on inside. _Underneath_ the RV, shrouded in darkness and wearing a ski mask, a woman with blonde hair lurked, waiting. As Francois apparently turned on a radio or a recording, French music filling the air, she quietly rolled out from under the steps, creeping out from under the RV with an elegant samurai sword clutched in one hand. A coyote howled in the distance as she gripped the hilt, slowly unsheathing the sword. She slowly leaned down and peeked under the door of the RV, seeing Francois –from the ankles down– rock slowly back and forth in an old, beat-up chair.

She stood up, but then froze as she heard dogs fighting off in the distance, and the music cut off. She flattened herself against the wall of the RV, and just in time too, as the blinds on the window just above and to the right of her head opened and Francois shouted out the window, cursing the dogs in French to shut up, to which they quickly obeyed. With a savage sneer of satisfaction, he withdrew his head and closed the blinds, walking away as the music started up again. Arya pulled off the ski mask, clenching both hands on the handle of her _katana_ as she whipped around the door and yanked it open.

 _ **BLAM!**_

She flew backwards with a yelp of pain as Francois lowered the shotgun, groaning on her back several meters away from the door, the front of her chest covered in blood. Francois coughed out a laugh, then turned and shut off the music again, slowly exiting the RV. "Now, zat gentled you down a bit, didn't eet?" he rasped as he approached her broken body, and Arya weakly stirred as he kicked her sword out of her reach. "Nobody's a badass with a double dose of rock salt dug deep in 'er chest."

Arya coughed brokenly, stirring a bit more, but it was quite obvious she wouldn't be moving around for a while. "Not 'aving tits as fine, or as big as yours, I can't even imagine 'ow bad zat shit must 'urt." Francois added in a mutter, reloading the gun and then cocking it back up against his shoulder. Arya coughed again, still trying to stir as he grabbed her belt knife and threw it away, followed by her sheath. "And I don't want to, either." Arya rolled her head, glaring up at him, and after a few moments of strangling breathing, spat blood into his face. She breathed heavily from the exertion, as Francois carefully wiped his face with his sleeve, then spat back, soaking her face in alcohol and tobacco. "I win." he sneered, then flipped her over with his foot as she groaned and gasped, injecting several milliliters of sedative in her lower back. He then went back to his trailer and grabbed a bottle of beer and another pack of cigarettes before sitting down outside to call a number on his mobile phone.

The voice that answered was young, male, and pissed-off.

" _Oliver_."

"Wrong brother, _salaud haineux_."

Slightly surprised, but still angry. _"Francois."_

"Bingo."

Resigned. _"And to what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"_

"I just caught myself ze woman who 'as never been caught."

Unexpected pleasure. _"Did you kill her?"_

"Not yet. I shot 'er full of rock salt. She's so quiet right now; I could perform the _coup de grace_ wiz a rock. Anyways…"

Francois leaned down and picked up the sword he had kicked away from Arya.

"Guess what I'm 'olding in my 'and right now?"

His voice grew slightly interested. _"What?"_

Francois grinned. "A brand-new Arthur Kirkland sword. And I'm 'ere to tell you, Allen, zat's what I call sharp."

Allen became resigned now. _"How much?"_

"Oh, zat's hard to say, being zat its priceless an' all."

" _What's the terms?"_

"You get your vegan ass down 'ere first thing in ze morning wiz a million American dollars in folding cash, and I'll give you ze greatest sword ever made by a man. Now 'ow do you like ze sound of zat?"

" _Sounds like we've got a deal. One condition."_

"What?"

Barely-concealed, unholy glee. _"She must suffer to her last breath."_

Francois barked a laugh. "That, Allen, I can guarantee."

" _Then I'll see you in the mornin', millionaire."_

" _Oui_."

 _***Time Skip***_

The full moon shone bright and cold as Arya slowly regained consciousness, her legs bound by a belt and her arms bound by an old climbing rope. Her fingers twitched slightly as she jerked a few times and slowly opened her eyes, wincing in pain. She tried shifting her legs and found them tied, then groaned and coughed a few times as she felt some latent remains of blood and dust catch in her throat. She heard footsteps approach and looked all around her as various metallic clanks and bangs sounded, and then the side of her prison opened to show a smirking Francois Bonnerfoy. "Awake I see." he sneered, then grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her from the bed of his truck, letting her fall on the hard-packed earth with a cry of pain. He then grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her a few feet, before dropping them and looking down at her, still smirking. He looked to the side, then back at her face again, and Arya followed his gaze to an open grave, where a man with a shovel could be seen laboring. He had already gone so deep that only the tip of his spade could be seen, and she froze as she saw the former occupant of the grave in an old, mildewed coffin, and a newer, cheap-pinewood one sitting close at hand.

She took a couple deep breathes, then looked to the side as the man tossed his shovel out of the grave and shouted "I'm done! Get me outta this hole!" Francois walked over and gave the man a hand up, helping to dust him off. The man then took a beer from the nearby cooler as Francois lifted a stepladder out of the hole, and Arya began to sweat. Francois casually tossed the stepladder in the back of his truck with a loud clang, then strode over to her. He stood over her for a few moments as his accomplice came to view the "corpse" as well. "Woah, look at those eyes." he chuckled, nudging Francois. "This bitch is furious." The Frenchman smirked icily before lighting another cigarette. "What'd I tell you? Is she ze cutest little blonde pussy you ever saw? Or, is she ze cutest little blonde pussy you ever saw?" he chuckled, and the other man scoffed. "I seen better."

Francois raised an eyebrow lecherously, then looked down at Arya. "You 'ave anything to say?" he sneered, and she glared at them both. The other man looked at Francois. "White women call this the "silent treatment". And we let 'em think we don't like it." he chortled, and Francois nodded. "You grab ze feet, I'll get ze head." The man gulped down the last few mouthfuls of beer, then belched and dropped the can, grabbing Arya's feet as they both lifted her up. She instantly began to thrash wildly, and Francois spat insults in French as he tried to keep her still. "Hey!" he snarled, dropping her and holding a can of something less than an inch from her eye as she froze solid. "You see zis, wiggle worm?" he hissed. "You see eet, don't you? Zat's a can of mace. You're going underneath ze ground tonight, and zat's all zere is to eet." He paused for a moment as she panted raggedly.

"I wanna bury you. I was going to bury you…" He smirked and took a flashlight out from his jacket pocket. "…with zis." He shined the light in her eyes, then withdrew it and aimed the mace at her again. "But if you don't settle down, I'm going to spray zis 'ole damn can right in your eyeballs. I'll burn 'em right out of your fucking head. Then you're going to be blind, and burning, and buried alive." He clicked the flashlight off, flipped it in his hands, and held both flashlight and mace in front of her face. "Now what's eet going to be, _chienne_?" She closed her eyes in visible defeat and awkwardly nodded her head towards the flashlight. Francois smirked. "Zat's a wise decision." he purred, grabbing her by the shoulders and hauling her over the brink.

* * *

Arya lay panting at the bottom of the coffin, and Francois watched her coldly from above, holding the lid open. "Zis is for breaking my brother's 'eart." he said, then smirked and closed the lid. Arya closed her eyes and whimpered as she heard the nails being driven in, the weak, watery light of the moon being steadily blocked out as she was left in the pitchy darkness. Panting heavily, and despite her best efforts, she felt panic begin to rise in her as she was left alone in the dark, giving dry, heaving sobs as she fought to hide her fear. On and off rumbling sounds from above her signaled the two men burying her coffin under meters of soil, making her rapid panting quicken with fear. She finally managed to turn on the flashlight, whimpering with fear as she glanced about the narrow confines of her prison.

Grunting, she futilely tried beating against the wooden lid, but she achieved nothing, continuing to panic as she hammered against the soft pine boards. She stopped and began to sob again, trembling with fear, as the thuds and rumbling sounds of falling earth and rocks died out, leaving her buried under many feet of earth. Panting, whimpering, and slamming her feet and wrists against the bottom of the box, angrily grunting and shifting her body, Arya drove away the panic. Or, at least she did until she heard the truck start up, and drive away.

Quietly resigning herself, she clicked the flashlight off with one last whimper.

* * *

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Elle Driver (woman with eye patch): Allen F. Jones/2p America

Budd (Bill's brother): Francois Bonnerfoy/2p France


	9. Chpt 8: Tutelage of Gillen Beilschmidt

_**Chapter Eight: The Cruel Tutelage of Gillen Beilschmidt**_

* * *

 _3_ _rd_ _Person POV:_

Oliver played a flute softly as he and Arya sat by the crackling fire, her curled up in a sleeping bag, and him perched on a log. He paused, looking up at her, before looking back down to his flute. "Once upon a time, in China," He began. "-some believe around the year one, double aught, three, the head priest of the White Lotus Clan, Gillen Beilschmidt, was walking down a road, contemplating whatever it is that a man of Gillen Beilschmidt's infinite powers would contemplate –which is another way of saying "who knows?" He paused to let Arya chuckle, then smiled and continued. "When a Shaolin monk appeared on the road, traveling in the opposite direction. As the monk and the priest crossed paths, Gillen Beilschmidt, in a practically unfathomable display of generosity, gave the monk the slightest of nods. The nod was not returned."

Oliver paused for a moment to blow quickly into his flute, cleaning it of dust and making a faint hooting sound. "Now, was it the intention of the Shaolin monk to insult Gillen Beilschmidt? Or did he just fail to see the generous social gesture? The motives of the monk remain unknown. What _is_ known were the consequences." He took the flute up again and played another bar of the song as Arya smiled happily. "The next morning, Gillen Beilschmidt appeared at the Shaolin temple, and demanded of the temple's head abbot that he offer Gillen Beilschmidt his neck to repay the insult. The abbot, at first, tried to console Gillen Beilschmidt, only to find Gillen Beilschmidt was inconsolable." He played another few bars, the tune mysterious and haunting. "So began the massacre of the Shaolin temple, and all sixty of the monks inside, at the fists of the White Lotus. And," Oliver continued, shouldering his flute. "So began the legend of Gillen Beilschmidt's five-point-palm-exploding-heart technique."

Arya snorted and sat up, taking her chin away from her hand where it had been resting. "And what, pray tell, is the five-point-palm-exploding-heart technique?" she asked skeptically, and Oliver smiled. "Quite simply, the deadliest blow in all of martial arts." he chuckled, then shifted his flute to explain, with one hand mimicking his words. "He hits you with his fingertips, at five different pressure points on your body, and then lets you walk away. But once you've taken five steps, your heart explodes inside your body and you fall to the floor, dead." He smiled at the awed look on Arya's face, but frowned a little at her breathless question. "Did he teach you that?"

"No," Oliver chuckled. "He teaches no one the five-point-palm-exploding-heart technique. Now, one of the things I've always liked about you, poppet, is you appear wise beyond your years. So, allow me to impart a word to the wise." He leaned forward, his face becoming deadly serious for a few seconds. "Whatever, _whatever_ Gillen Beilschmidt says, obey. If you flash him, even for an instant, a defiant eye, he'll pluck it out. And if you throw any American sass his way, he'll snap your back and your neck like they were twigs. And that will be the story of you." he finished warningly, then started to play gently on his flute once more as Arya snuggled up inside her sleeping bag.

 _***Time Skip***_

Oliver skipped lightly down the rocky mountain path, beaming from ear to ear. "He'll accept you as his student, poppet!" he cheered happily as he reached the flat ground, and Arya hopped off the hood of the truck. "What happened to you?" she asked curiously as she saw the bloodied scratches on his cheek, and he shook his head. "Nothing." he chirped dismissively, but she persisted. "Get in a fight?" He smiled briefly and shook his head. "Friendly contest." he answered shortly, hopping into the truck. "Why'd he accept me?" Arya pestered, and he rolled his eyes. "Because he's a very, very, very old man. And, like all rotten fudgesickles, when they become old, they get lonely. Which has no effect on their dispositions, but it does teach them the value of company." he explained, handing Arya several bags he had packed. He sighed and shook his head as he walked around the truck and looked back up at the stairs. "Just seeing those steps again makes me ache. You're going to have a lot of fun carrying buckets of water up and down those." he teased.

"When will I see you again?" Arya asked curiously as he got into the driver's seat, and Oliver smiled briefly. "That's the title of my favorite soul song of the 70s." Arya blinked twice. "What?" she asked, and he smiled and shook his head. "Nothing. When he tells me you're done." he answered, and she grinned. "When do you think that might be?" she teased, and he smirked. "That, my dearest, depends entirely on you. Now remember, no sarcasm, no back talk. At least not for the first year or so. You're going to have to let him warm up to you. He hates non-Germans, despises Americans, and has _nothing_ but contempt for women." he said firmly, then smirked a bit. "So in your case, it might take a little while. Bye-bye~!"

He started the truck and drove off as Arya smiled after him fondly, then sighed and began to climb the stairs.

 _***Time Skip***_

Arya stopped dead as she came through an archway, seeing a man with extraordinarily long silver-white hair, tied back in a ponytail, sitting cross-legged on the inside of the compound on yet another flight of steps, these ones much smaller. She sucked in a deep breath and approached, standing in front of him and quietly dropping two of her three overstuffed bags. "Master…" she began respectfully, and he opened one eye to glare at her. " _Your English is lousy. It causes my ears discomfort! You bray like an ass! You are not to speak unless spoken to._ " he snapped irritably. " _Is it too much to hope you understand German?_ " Arya swallowed several times, but picked up her courage and spoke again. " _I speak Japanese very well-_ " she tried in German, but he cut her off. " _I didn't ask if you speak Japanese; I asked if you understand German!_ "

She swallowed again. "A-a little."

Gillen Beilschmidt unfolded his arms and put his hands on his knees, leaning forward. " _You are here to learn the mysteries of Kung Fu, not linguistics. If you can't understand me –I will communicate with you like I would a dog. When I yell, when I point, when I beat you with my stick!_ " he barked, watching her quickly lower her head, so as not to show him the spark of anger there. He raised an amused eyebrow. " _Oliver is your master, is he not?_ " he asked in German, and she looked up again, composed now. "Yes, he is." she answered in English, and he pursed his lips, wiggling a cigarette she had not yet noticed in the corner of his mouth. " _Your master tells me you're not entirely unschooled. What training do you possess?"_ he asked brusquely, and she licked her lips. "I am proficient in tiger-crane style, and I am more than proficient in the exquisite art of the samurai sword." she responded in English.

Gillen scoffed. " _Don't make me laugh!_ " he snorted. " _You so-called exquisite art is only fit for Japanese fat heads!_ " He watched her literally shake with anger, and chuckled, wiggling his cigarette. " _Your anger amuses me. Do you believe you are my match?_ " Arya shook her head quickly. " _No_." she blurted, and Gillen's eyes glittered. " _Are you aware I kill at will?"_ he asked sharply, and she nodded. " _Yes._ " she admitted, and he grinned. " _Is it your wish to die?_ " he growled, leaning forward, and she shook her head. " _No!_ " she said again as he began to laugh, leaning back again. " _Then you must be stupid…so stupid. Rise, and let me look at your ridiculous face._ " he commanded, gesturing for her to stand. " _Rise._ " Arya did as he commanded, and he smirked at her with jaundice. " _So my pathetic friend, is there anything that you can do well?"_ he didn't speak and merely stared at him, doing a pathetic job of hiding her anger. " _What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?_ " he sneered, then smirked and folded his arms. " _Oh yes, you speak Japanese. I despise the goddamned Japs!"_ he roared, watching her literally shake with anger, standing as still as she possibly could regardless.

Gillen raised his hand, palm upward. " _Go to that rack._ " he said dismissively, and with angry, jerky movements, Arya dropped the last bag and stalked over to the rack, pausing as she looked at the weapons it held. Gillen made an impatient motion with his upraised hand. " _Remove the sword._ " he snapped, and Arya snatched it out of the rack, marching towards him before pausing and performing a lightning-quick salute with the sword. Gillen stood slowly, flicking the sleeve of his long jacket over his hand and approaching her slowly. He extended his hand towards her and spoke with the first signs of civility. " _Let's see how good you really are._ " he told her expectantly, then smirked, jerking his cigarette slightly. " _If you land a single blow…I'll bow down and call you master._ " he added with his signature sneer, lowering the hand, and Arya's eyes flashed with the anger she had been valiantly trying to suppress.

She lunged towards him, her sword flashing through the air as Gillen nonchalantly leaned to one side, then the other, avoiding her lightning-quick attacks with barely a change in expression. He ducked under the thrust of her sword, coming up behind her, then tapped her shoulder with a grunt. Arya hissed and tried to whirl, but he grabbed her by the arm and flipped her end over end, landing her in the dirt as he once again stood in front of her. Arya flipped back upright, then lunged at him again as he jumped, landing and balancing perfectly on the thin rod of steel as she looked up at him in astonishment. He smirked at her. " _From here you can get an excellent view of my foot._ " he said pointedly, then backflipped, kicking Arya in the jaw as she yelped and stumbled backwards. He laughed as she staggered to a halt, glaring at him as he wiggling the cigarette again. " _Your swordship is amateur at best!_ " he sneered, losing the cheerful air as he became to walk towards her again.

Arya snarled in frustration and anger, whirling her sword about her again as she lunged to attack, but Gillen smacked his hand down on her arm, then her elbow, hitting several pressure points as she dropped to her knees from the acute pain. He snatched the sword from her grip and kicked her backwards, her back hitting a tree trunk with a solid, painful _thud_. He laughed again, the cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth bobbing up and down as he did so. " _Your so-called kung fu is really quite pathetic._ " he sneered, throwing the sword towards the rack again. By some miracle of skill, it landed back in its slot as he then began to pace around her. " _I asked you to demonstrate what you know and you did…not a goddamn thing!"_ he snarled, then stopped and smirked at her again. " _Let's see your Tiger Crane match my Eagle's Claw._ "

He raised one hand, and Arya shook her head angrily before pacing around him, then falling into a crouch and raising her own hands in readiness. She darted towards him, swiping first one way, then the other as he gave ground, jumping up to kick at his chest as he swayed away, then lunged forward again, landing precise, jabbing hits on all her pressure points as bursts of pain fired through her system. She tried hitting him again, but his hands blocked each and every one of her blows, and he finally grabbed her face and shoved backwards, sending her crashing to the ground. She was up again in a second, and they went through the sequence again, her futilely trying to land a single blow on the martial arts master, and him effortlessly avoiding or countering her attacks.

Finally Arya got reckless and tried to kick him in the groin, but he sneered and clapped his legs around her foot, immobilizing her as she balanced on her other leg, staring at him in perplextion. He laughed and spun, sending her skidding across the ground as he turned away, still laughing. That was the straw that broke the camel's back, and Arya grabbed a rock and lunged, heedless of any style or tactic, and just wanting to injure this man. Gillen knew full well what she was attempting, and grabbed her by the wrist, twisting her arm around so that she was facing the ground with a shriek of pain, dropping the rock. He jerked her arm again as she let out a wail of pain, breathless before the agony. " _Like all Yankee women, all you can do is order in restaurants and spend a man's money._ " he sneered, then jerked her arm again. " _Excruciating, isn't it?"_ he snarled, twisting further as Arya screamed and arched.

She was close to passing out from the pain. " _Yes,_ " she sobbed in breathless German. Gillen chuckled dismissively and then raised his free hand. " _If it was my wish, I could chop your arm off!"_ he roared, and Arya whipped her head around. "No, please don't!" she blurted in English, tears swimming in her eyes as he laughed again. " _It's my arm now. I can do what I please. If you can stop me –I suggest you try._ " he sneered, twisting further, and she cried out in agony and shook her head. " _I can't._ " she sobbed, and he sneered and shook her arm lightly. " _Because you're helpless?"_

" _Yes!_ "

Gillen wiggled his cigarette in thought. " _Have you ever felt this before?"_

" _No!_ "

" _Compared to me –you're as helpless as a worm fighting an eagle?"_

" _YES!"_

Gillen grinned and let her arm go. " _That's the beginning!"_

Aryana lay on the ground, clutching her relinquished wrist and panting hard. Gillen favored her with a sardonic look and extended his hand. " _Is if your wish to possess this kind of power?_ " he asked in German as he looked down at her, and Arya nodded several times. "Yes." she whimpered, and he narrowed his eyes. " _Your training will begin tomorrow._ " he said dismissively, then spat out his cigarette, ground it down with his heel, and left her.

* * *

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Bill: Oliver Kirkland/2p England

Pai Mei: Gillen Beilschmidt/2p Prussia

* * *

 _ **As everyone knows by this point, I ran out of Asians somewhere in the first volume and had to improvise, so it should come as no surprise for Pai Mei to be someone very not-Asian. Thusly I moved him from China to Germany. And as for those who will whine about "he has to be on a high mountaintop", lemme tell you, they have some pretty big-ass mountains in Germany. And YAY! Reviewers! Please tell me which manner of one-shot you want, and I'll get cracking right away. To**_ _Guest,_ _ **thank you very much, I do my best. To**_ _Amile_ _ **, "Kill Oliver" is a callback to the movie this fic is based off of, which is Kill Bill. The character Bill is represented/played by Oliver Kirkland/2p England, so, the title then becomes "Kill Oliver". You see?**_


	10. Chpt 8: Gillen Beilschmidt (Continued)

_**The Cruel Tutelage of Gillen Beilschmidt (Continued)**_

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 _3_ _rd_ _Person POV:_

"HA!"

Gillen punched through the wooden board with a single blow, then turned to look at Arya. " _Since your arm now belongs to me, I want it strong. Can you do that?_ " he asked, and Arya looked uncertainly at the board. " _I can, but not that close._ " she said respectfully, and he snorted dismissively. " _Then you can't do it. What if your enemy is three inches in front of you-_ " he hissed, holding his hand the corresponding amount just below her chin. _"-what do you do then? Curl into a ball?_ _Or do you put your fist through him?_ " he shouted, slamming his fist through the board again. " _Now begin!_ " he snarled, stalking away. Arya followed him with her eyes, then took his place, standing less than a foot away from the board and holding her hand out in front of it. She curled her fist and punched the board with a grunt, but did nothing. She extended her fingers, measuring the distance, and then hit again, letting out a muffled hiss of pain. She looked at her shaking hand, then measured the distance again and hit.

Skin came off her first knuckle.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Aryana clutched her wrist, hissing in pain as the blood flowed down it. Gillen watched her impassively from the entrance to his home. "It's the wood that should fear your hand –not the other way around. No wonder you can't do it –you acquiesce to defeat before you even begin!" He tossed his head arrogantly and swept away as Arya glared after him, then set her bloodied fist against the wood and tried again.

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 _***Montage***_

 _Arya panted heavily, her hair dank with sweat as she staggered up the long, long steps, a pole carrying two buckets of water draped across her back._

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 _Arya flicked her wrist one way and then another, copying Gillen's movements exactly as she kicked and punched, wove and dodged._

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 _Again._

 _Again._

 _Again._

 _Blood continued to flow, but it wasn't as much as before._

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 _With every failure to punch through the wood, Gillen, seated above Arya on the flat board and the posts keeping it in place, smacked her with a cane. She paused for half a second to clutch her bleeding hand, and he clubbed her over the head with it. Arya rose to her feet, giving him a smoldering glare of determination, before hitting the wood again._

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Again.

Again.

Again.

 _Arya twitched in her sleep as she remembered the thud of her hand meeting the wood over and over and over, and her fist suddenly lashed out, smacking into the brick wall next to her as she woke up with a gasp of pain, cradling the wounded limb dumbly._

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" _Hah! Hah! Hah!"_

 _Arya punched the thick wooden board as Gillen rapped the cane against a rock, smirking to himself. She continued at the same pace as he stopped tapping the cane, and he wiggled his cigarette thoughtfully._

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 _Thunder boomed as rain pattered down on the roof of the establishment. Arya shakily scooped up some of the rice with her maimed right hand, dropping it from the chopsticks before she could reach her mouth. Gillen inhaled the aroma of the meal smugly, shoveling the rice into his mouth with all the ease of long practice and born skill. Arya continued to pick clumsily at her meal with the chopsticks, before dropping them and picking up a chunk of the rice with her hand._

 _ **SLAM.**_

 _Arya flinched and looked up as Gillen smacked his hand on the table, dropping her rice. He reached across it and took the bowl from her. "_ If you want to eat like a dog, you can live and sleep outside like a dog! _" he said contemptuously, flicking the greater portion of the rice out of the bowl and then setting it down on the table again. "_ If you want to live and sleep like a human, pick up those sticks. _" Arya stared at him for a few moments, then slowly scooted the rice to the side and picked up her chopsticks. She struggled for a few moments, grunting, before she scooped up a portion of rice and shoved it in her mouth._

 _Gillen wiggled his cigarette again thoughtfully._

 _***Montage End***_

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Arya turned on the flashlight again, scanning it around her prison. She began to wriggle, squirming her way out of her boots –and therefore the belt tying her legs together. She used her newly freed feet to inch her boots up to her hands, clapping her legs around the flashlight to hold it still as she used both hands to work free a battered razorblade, unfolding it and methodically cutting the bonds on her hands. It was hard work, and she moved the flashlight up to hold it in her teeth. "C'mon, you bitch." she muttered, sawing at the tough fibers. Aryana pulled her hands apart as the rope gave, then kissed the razor and stuck it in her back pocket. She aimed her flashlight up at the lid of the coffin, tapping it a few times with her fist. She then held the flashlight in her left hand, holding her other just inches from the lid. "Okay, Gillen Beilschmidt. Here I come." she whispered, then hit.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Blood smeared on the boards for lack of practice, but they cracked. Slowly but surely, they began to crack, and trickles of dirt began to seep through them at every punch. Arya continued to punch, even as she broke a hole right through the lid and loose dirt flooded down to greet her, breaking as much of the wood as she could. She shoved her hands up through the loose soil, clawing her way out of that coffin inch by claustrophobic, death-smelling inch. The dirt was thankfully still loose, and she could force her way through it, feeling like she was both swimming and tunneling at the same time, and any second about to loose her nerve and scream, filling her mouth with dirt. Until finally-

Her hand broke free.

Arya pulled her head above the ground, gasping for breath. The soil continued to suck at her body, wanting to pull her down, and wheezing, she clawed her way towards the more solid grass, away from the sinkhole she had just created. She rolled over and continued to pant, staring up at the beautiful night sky and all the stars it contained. She then slowly got to her feet and wobbled out of the graveyard, glancing around at the gate to see a diner across the road. She quickly marched across the tarmac, dust floating off her with every step, and pushed the door open. The unshaven man behind the counter stared at her mutely as she walked inside and slowly sat down. Arya looked up at him and smiled awkwardly. "May I have a glass of water, please?" she asked hoarsely, and he blinked and slowly closed his hanging mouth.

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The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Pai Mei: Gillen Beilschmidt/2p Prussia


End file.
